Finding Home
by weethreequarter
Summary: Post DoFP au. What makes a man walk away from everything he's ever known, away from his sister and two best friends and the dream he'd held onto for so long? What makes a man give all that up to run halfway across the world to live in fear and hiding, under assumed names and false histories to stay safe? What makes a man reject completely everything he was supposed to be?
1. The Beginning

**The Beginning**

It was raining. Or, to be more precise, it was absolutely bloody bucketing down. Erik paused inside the door to his block, taking a moment to push his rain-slicked hair off of his face, before beginning the climb up the two flights of stairs to the studio apartment he'd acquired. There was a rattling old elevator, a cage in the centre of the stairs, but Erik was eternally dubious of it. No doubt he would be fine, as the entire thing was made of metal, but he was trying not to use his powers where possible. He didn't want anyone to find him.

His shoes squelched against the linoleum covered stairs, and he grimaced. Wet socks were not to be desired. As soon as he was inside – and had locked the several deadbolts, just incase someone had realised who he really was – he intended to have a scalding hot shower to chase away the cold. Albeit a very _short_ scalding hot shower, as the water tank was dismally small, but even so. Then a warm meal, a shot of scotch and sleep.

But all thoughts of showers and food vanished when he reached the door to his studio. Something wasn't right. He could sense the presence of a large metal object that had definitely not been inside when he left that morning to work. It wasn't a gun, or even guns plural, because he knew all too well what they felt like. No, there were no bullets, of that he was sure. Erik glanced around, hoping for something he could use to defend himself, just in case whoever it was that had that metal object was hostile. He could, of course, have easily ripped apart the metal casing of the elevator and bent it to his will, but that would have been rather obvious to his neighbours, and pretty quickly two and two would have been added together, and then he would be discovered. So instead, Erik yanked a single, loose spoke from the bannister, confident in the knowledge he could turn it into whatever he needed if necessary.

He realised now, key in hand, that the light was on inside, the glow visible under the ill-fitting door. Carefully he slipped the key into the lock, tightening his grip of the bar in his hand and placing his other on the handle. Using his powers he turned the key slowly, flinging open the door the instant the lock was free.

"Is this how you greet all your guests?"

Erik blinked. Surely his eyes – and ears – were playing tricks on him. Of all the people sitting in his ratty studio, it couldn't be...

"Charles?"

"Hello old friend."

Charles looked the same as he did four months ago in Washington. Well, maybe not exactly the same. He wasn't bloody or dust caked from being trapped under the remnants of a stadium on the lawn of the White House from one. The dark circles under his eyes had receded, and his hair, while still long, looked much more kempt. But other than that, there were not many differences. In fact, Erik could almost swear he was wearing the same sweater and tweed jacket.

"What are you doing here?" Erik asked.

"Are you going to put that down?" Charles nodded towards the bar still raised in Erik's left hand. He'd quite forgotten about it, his attention had been so thoroughly taken up with the fact that Charles was here, in Poland, in his apartment. But now he instantly tossed it out into the hallway, closing the door behind him and locking the deadbolts securely. "Isn't that being a little excessive?" Charles smirked.

"Incase you've forgotten, there's an international arrest warrant on my head," Erik retorted with a smirk of his own. "It's prudent to be careful."

"If it's gotten rid of that bloody cape, it's not all bad."

Warmth spread through Erik's chest at the oh-so-familiar way they fell into easy banter. This was the way their reunion should have been, only they were both too caught up in anger and betrayals of the past.

"Why are you here Charles?" Erik repeated.

Charles held his gaze firm.

"I received your letter."

Erik fought the urge to swallow and look away. Some people may have defended it as a moment of weakness, or as a desperate attempt to beg forgiveness for all the unforgivable deeds he had committed. But it was none of that. He'd simply wanted Charles to know, and expected nothing in return. It was why he had excluded a return address, which did rather beg the question of how Charles had known where to find him.

"Telepath, remember? And no, you're just projecting."

"You came all the way to Poland because of a three paragraph letter?" Erik frowned.

"Yes," Charles smiled.

"Why?"

"I love you too, you idiot."

XXXX

If it had been a sappy romantic movie, they would simply have declared their love, fallen into bed together, and lived happily ever after. But they were both acutely aware that this was _not_ a romance movie, and that they actually needed to talk to each other, particularly as the last time they'd been face to face, Erik had dropped a stadium on Charles, and Charles had violently invaded Erik's mind. There were things that needed to be cleared up.

So Erik ordered Chinese, because his brain was too busy trying to catch up with the fact that Charles loved him too to be able to cook without burning the building down, and they sat opposite each other at the fold out table.

"I'm not going to apologise," Erik declared. "Not for everything, although you think I should."

"Are you reading my mind now?" Charles teased. "Erik, I don't expect you to apologise. Besides, I forgive you. That doesn't mean I'm not still bloody pissed – I most definitely am – but this can't work if I'm always... holding on to old hurts, waiting for apologies. And it's not entirely your fault. Mostly, but not totally," he added.

"I am sorry however, Charles," Erik admitted, "For Cuba, for that bullet."

Charles shook his head, "It was an accident."

"But you said-"

"Oh it absolutely was your fault, but I know you didn't hurt me intentionally. And Moira and I hold just as much blame as you do."

"Thank you," Erik nodded, relieved that was off his chest. "So, Mystique and Hank willingly let you leave to come after me? That's a surprise."

"Actually," Charles replied, skewering a wonton with a chopstick. "They think I'm dead."

The spring roll fell back into the box as Erik's grip tightened reflexively on his own chopsticks. He stared at Charles in disbelief.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly," Charles grinned.

"Charles, this isn't a joke. They really think you're dead? Why?"

Charles sighed and set down his chopsticks, leaning forward and holding eye contact with him.

"I'm not an idiot Erik. You're the most wanted man on the planet right now, so even if Raven and Hank did let me come, there would always be a chance someone would read their minds to find you. Or worse, hold them hostage to draw us out. I want them safe, to live the lives they want. It was for the best."

"But they think you're dead," Erik argued.

"Yes," Charles nodded. "It was a lovely service. I was very touched."

"You're mad," Erik declared.

"I think I proved that the night we met my friend. Risking drowning for a stranger is not usually considered entirely sane."

Erik managed to chuckle a little at that. He watched Charles reach across the table and take Erik's hand in his own.

"Listen very carefully my friend," Charles said. "I will not try to change you. I know I have tried to in the past, but I promise that I will not try to force you to change, if you promise not to make me change. You have just as much right to your opinions as I do. But Erik, if you don't change your methods, you will lose me. I cannot stand by and watch you go down that road."

"You're asking me to choose," Erik frowned.

"Yes," Charles nodded. "I've made my choice. I love you, and I will deal with whatever that entails. But the one thing I cannot do, is sit back and watch you kill."

Erik pushed his chair away from the table, and crossed the room to the single window, moving slowly so Charles didn't get the impression he was angry. Yes, when Charles had started speaking, the familiar burn of anger had flared. But then he'd continued, and Erik understood what he was saying. He wasn't entirely unreasonable after all. He took a deep breath, staring out of the rain splattered window at the virtually empty lane below. No one was foolish enough to voluntarily go out in this weather. He pushed his hands into his pockets, leaning his forehead on the cold glass. And for a moment he allowed himself to picture the life he could have if he agreed with Charles.

It wouldn't be easy. Homosexuality was still illegal in many places, and while Poland wasn't one of them, public opinion was far from favourable. They would have to be doubly careful, careful about revealing their relationship, and careful about revealing their mutations. But it would be worth it, for the nights of chess games and scotch and sharing the same bed. For the mornings waking up together and Charles' frankly amazing pancakes which he hadn't forgotten the taste of even after eleven years. For the days coming home to each other. For one brief, shining moment, he could even imagine children, although that path was denied to them biologically and socially.

And the alternative? A lonely life, with dramatic speeches and even more dramatic costumes, inciting actions with the aim of advancing mutant-kind, constantly running from the authorities, moving from each prison sentence to the next. It didn't really compare. But... It was what he believed in, what he'd fought for for so long. He didn't know if he could just... give up, just like that.

In the reflection on the glass, Erik watched Charles behind him. It was a testament to how well Charles knew him that his friend didn't try to talk to him, indeed wasn't even looking at him. He knew how much he'd asked of Erik, and he respected him enough to give him the time to make the choice on his own. Charles had chosen him. No one had ever done that before, not like this. He turned slowly.

"I can't promise anything," Erik said. "But I will try. For you."

The smile he received in return made those ten words worth it.

"That's all I ask," Charles said softly.

XXX

It should feel weird, Charles mused, the thought of sleeping in the same bed as Erik. Although technically it had happened before; one night on their way to meet Alex for the first time, the only hotel room was one with a double bed. They'd been exhausted and Erik had been in a foul mood as a result, and even Charles' infinite patience was reaching its limit, so he'd given in and made the desk clerk forget there were two of them to avoid any raised eyebrows or unwelcome attention and told Erik not to be a prude. But they were only friends back then; now they were... Well, something more than friends. Not that it had a label yet.

But ironically the thought of sharing a bed with Erik didn't embarrass him in the slightest. Charles' only embarrassment came from the knowledge that it would be the first time Erik would see him properly confined to his wheelchair. What if he realised exactly how limited Charles was now and quickly retracted his admission of love?

 _Stop it_ , Charles scolded himself.

Erik was not that shallow.

Back before Hank's serum, Charles had become quite adept at lifting himself from his chair to the bed. In the four months since he'd given up the serum, he found the knowledge was still there, although his muscle strength had waned somewhat. But the bed here was lower that his one back home which made the manoeuvre much easier.

Erik took a moment when he stepped out of the bathroom to drink in the sight before him. Charles caught sight of him out of the corner of one eye, quirking an eyebrow in his direction.

"What?"

"Just... You're here," Erik shrugged. Then with a grin, he added, "In my bed."

"I'm not that easy," Charles quipped.

"I'm sure there are several Oxford graduates who could dispute that," Erik teased, slipping under the covers.

Charles swatted him with his book. Erik snorted, settling down.

"Do you mind if I...?" Charles raised his book. Erik shook his head. "Goodnight Erik."

"Sleep tight Charles."

XXXX

When he woke, it took Charles a moment to remember where he was. The room was unfamiliar, particularly in the grey half light of morning. He closed his eyes again, rubbing the sleep from them. Then the mattress shifted behind him and he remembered. He was in Poland, in Krakow, with Erik. He shifted himself onto his back – easier said than done thanks to his paralysis – to get Erik in his eye line. Charles knew he should feel some amount of trepidation and nerves at what he'd done, at all he'd risked to be here. But strangely he didn't. Instead, for the first time in... well, _ever_ he supposed, he felt peaceful. The decision hadn't been an easy one, and it hurt to leave Hank and Raven and Alex behind, but ultimately, something told him that it was the right decision to make.

Erik shifted again, then two bleary eyes met Charles' own. He smiled.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Erik replied, his voice thick with sleep. He squinted at his watch. "I have to get up for work."

"You working; I'd like to see that," Charles teased.

Erik swiped feebly at his arm, seemingly unconcerned when he missed him entirely. Then he frowned.

"What are you going to do today?" he asked.

Charles frowned. He'd never really considered what he would do once he found Erik. It wasn't as though he could go back to genetics; Charles Xavier was dead, so it would look pretty suspicious if he suddenly started publishing academic papers from beyond the grave. Suddenly he had an idea.

"Is there a library nearby?"

Erik stared at him, before shaking his head in laughter.

"You'll never change, will you?"

"Probably not," Charles grinned.

Erik chuckled, rolling over. His hand ended up next to Charles', and after a moment's hesitation, Charles covered it with his own. When he looked up again, he found Erik staring at him, the laughter from a moment ago gone.

Suddenly Erik blurted out, "I'm glad you're here."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Me too," Charles replied. He rubbed the back of Erik's hand with his thumb and couldn't understand why it felt like they'd been doing this for years. The feeling of familiarity lingered through the morning routine. Without discussing it, Erik took the bathroom first, while Charles started breakfast. Then they swapped, before eating. Even though they didn't really talk, it was comfortable, the kind of comfortable silence that only came from knowing someone for years – even if there was a ten year gap due to imprisonment – almost better then you knew yourself.

"What's wrong?" Charles asked when they stepped into the elevator. Erik was eyeing it angrily, the same way he'd glared at Moira actually, right before trying to strangle her with her own dogtags.

"I don't trust this thing," Erik muttered.

Charles laughed.

"The man who controls metal doesn't trust a machine made entirely of metal?" he teased. Erik glared at him, but after a few minutes of Charles' smirk, his face relaxed into a smile of his own. But then he stepped out of the elevator and it disappeared completely.

Charles recognised the woman as the landlady he'd convinced to let him in to Erik's apartment the day before. She chattered away to Erik in Polish, and Erik replied, clearly tense. From the glances both were sending his way, Charles could guess he was the topic of conversation and realised Erik would have to teach him Polish PDQ.

 _You speak German right?_ Erik projected suddenly.

 _Ja_ Charles replied.

Instantly Erik switched to German, introducing the landlady to him. Charles smiled and nodded, wishing her "Guten Morgen" and Erik introduced him as his newly-arrived friend from Germany.

"What's your name dear?" the landlady asked.

"Max Eisenhardt," Erik blurted before Charles could draw breath.

 _Really Erik? Max?_

 _An old alias of mine. I can't very well introduce you as Charles Xavier, can I? One, you're supposed to be dead and two it doesn't sound very German._

Charles smirked, but agreed. Of course he would need a new name now. He'd discovered the day before that Erik was now Henryk Gurtzsky. Max Eisenhardt would have to do.

"I'll see you tonight," Erik murmured once they managed to escape the landlady's grip.

Charles nodded, waving as Erik walked away. Then he turned and followed the directions Erik had projected to him to the library of the Polish Academy of Arts and Sciences.

For all the problems the serum had brought him, it did give him one advantage: he'd used his leg muscles like an uninjured person over the past few years, which meant his muscles were not atrophied. Which meant that he was in a much better place to start focusing on rehabilitation again.

He was lucky, really. His spinal injury was 'incomplete', meaning there was a chance he could recover some mobility. His spinal cord could still send signals past his injury. He would never be able to walk completely normally, but if he could regain even a little of his mobility – and with it his independence, because relying on a wheelchair still felt like relinquishing his independence even if it was only to an inanimate object – it would make all the difference in the world. Particularly now, at the start of his new life with Erik.

So when Erik had asked what he planned to do with himself, Charles had made it his mission to study all the latest publications on spinal cord injuries and the developments with physical therapy. Treatment had changed so much, even in the eleven years since his injury. Back in 1962, an injury like his was seen as a death sentence, which was why he'd been driven towards the serum in the first place. But now, in 1973, things were changing. There was hope.

It was more than that however; it gave him something to work towards. While he could still read papers on genetics and follow the latest developments in the field, he couldn't contribute anything himself. And it was frustrating to know that the research he and Hank could have worked on was miles ahead of anything else currently in the works. But it was one of the many sacrifices he'd made to be with Erik. And while he might not be able to publish any genetics work, if his research and physical therapy plans helped him re-gain mobility, he could always publish the results as Max Eisenhardt.

He pillaged the library, requesting every possible medical journal, and set himself up at a table, notepad and pen at the ready and began to study. Although not his original area of expertise, before specialising in genetics, he'd had to study a variety of medical sciences. He was familiar enough with the terminology, and with the help of a medical dictionary, soon found himself enthralled by the work. He became so absorbed, he didn't even realise when midday rolled around until his stomach stared growling. Glancing at his watch, Charles realised he'd been working for over five hours without noticing. If Raven was here, she'd say it was his thesis all over again.

Raven...

Charles wondered how she was doing as he ordered a sandwich in a mixture of German and bad sign language. Without Cerebro, there was no way for him to check in on her, or Hank and Alex. Not from this distance. He hoped she was okay. Hurting, or course, because she believed her brother to be dead. But together the three of them could pull each other through, of that he had little doubt.

At the end of the day, Charles left the library with a collection of journals and books, prepared to throw himself into the study of spinal cord injuries in earnest, ready to see Erik again. It had been a lonely day, particularly since he could only communicate in German. Erik would have to teach him Polish, although he found an English to Polish dictionary in the library to assist with his learning. However, on his way back to the apartment block, he was distracted by an item in the window of a shop. With a smile, Charles made a quick detour into the shop.

"What have you got there?" Erik asked when they met outside the building. Erik had made him promise not to use the elevator alone unless absolutely necessary.

"Books," Charles replied.

"I can see that," Erik rolled his eyes. "I meant _that_."

"Never you mind," Charles scolded. He jerked the bag away when Erik tried to sneak a peek. "It's a surprise."

"Another one?" Erik smirked, opening the apartment.

"Honey, I'm home," Charles quipped. Erik rolled his eyes, tossing something small and metal at him which Charles caught expertly. Although perhaps it had less to do with his hand-eye coordination and more to do with Erik's powers. He turned over the piece of metal in his hand, revealing it as a key.

"Yours," Erik explained. "Your home too now."

Charles felt a rush of warmth and anxiety; a heady mix. It was real now, what he'd done. This, not Westchester, was home. With Erik.

"I like the sound of that," he murmured.

"Me too," Erik agreed.

XXX

When Erik stepped out of the bathroom after his shower, towelling his hair dry, Charles had taken over the table with what appeared to be half the library, notepad balanced on one knee and pen in hand. Erik smiled. He reached out and squeezed Charles' shoulder on his way past to the kitchenette, loving how right it felt to have Charles back in his life as an ally instead of an antagonist.

"Erik?" Charles called.

"Yes?" Erik replied, placing his glass of water on the table. Suddenly Charles couldn't meet his eyes, and Erik found himself gripped by fear.

"I spent two days travelling, and it's been another twenty four hours since then," Charles explained. "I would love a bath."

"So?" Erik asked, relaxing. Charles was not leaving him already.

"So," Charles made eye contact nervously. "I'm going to need a little help."

Erik frowned, trying to process what Charles was telling him. Why would-

"Oh. Oh," he realised, noticing Charles' wince. Erik swallowed. "Okay," he said.

The bathroom was tiny. Erik struggled to move in it, so frankly he was amazed that Charles could cope at all with his wheelchair. The one patch of floor was, he supposed, just large enough for the chair to turn, surrounded on three sides by the washing machine, bath, and toilet respectively. The fourth held the door. There was no window, and only an intermittent fan, which left it steam filled and more than a little oppressive after every shower.

Erik flicked off the taps, after checking the water had reached an acceptable temperature, pushing himself upright. He heard Charles in the doorway and gathered every piece of inner strength he possessed before turning around. If not for Charles' obvious mortification, Erik would've suspected it was a test for him to pass. Even so, he was determined not to fail.

Charles had stripped down to his underwear and was decidedly not making eye contact. Erik forced himself to stand steady. Charles needed his support. He could do this. This was an uncomfortably clinical moment, nothing remotely arousing about this moment. Still, Erik noted – objectively of course – that Charles had a surprisingly athletic physique.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be," Charles sighed.

Erik averted his eyes while he removed his underwear, keeping them as far away as possible for the sake of Charles' modesty even as he crouched to slip one arm behind Charles' waist and the other under his knees. Using his powers, he sent the wheelchair out of the room, utilising what little space there was available. The water was warm against his forearms. He focused on that. Once he was certain Charles was seated properly, he removed his arms, retrieving a towel to dry them off.

"Okay?" Erik asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Charles' face.

"Thank you," Charles nodded with a tired smile.

"Shout if you need anything," Erik replied.

Closing the door behind him, Erik collapsed onto the bed, dragging his hands down his face. That was more than he'd been prepared for so soon, but he'd known there was no way around it. He sighed. Now reality was beginning to set in, he realised. The honeymoon period had swiftly come to an end.

Eventually he felt a gentle push against his mind, instantly recognisable as Charles. Erik pushed himself off the bed and returned to the bathroom. He offered Charles brief but hopefully reassuring smile as he crouched down. As before, he tried to keep his eyes averted as much as possible. Charles was radiating discomfort with this whole situation. Erik ensured Charles was settled in his chair, passed him a fresh towel and left him to it.

By the time Charles emerged from the bathroom, Erik had settled on his side of the bed, sitting against the headboard with a book in hand. He dropped it when Charles joined him, seeking out his friend's eyes to check if he was okay.

"That could've been worse," Charles admitted with a wan smile. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Erik shrugged.

He watched Charles retrieve the mystery bag from earlier before lifting himself from the wheelchair to the bed. Erik couldn't help but marvel at how adaptive Charles was; whatever the situation demanded, he could always find some way to integrate himself. Part of Erik wondered if it had some connection to Charles' mutation; another part suspected it was just Charles.

"Ready for that surprise?" Charles grinned.

Erik shifted so he was sitting more on his side, facing Charles. He couldn't deny the delight that adorned his face when Charles pulled a chess board from the bag, nor the way his smile grew when the set of metal chessmen followed.

"I'll go easy on you," Charles smirked. "Might even be a fair fight."

Erik flicked one finger, sending his first pawn sliding forward. He met Charles' eyes.

"Your move."

Charles smiled, taking a moment before moving a pawn of his own. Erik settled back against the pillows, finding himself more comfortable than he'd been in years. Anticipation thrummed in his veins, for the game, but also for the future ahead of them.

"Checkmate," he declared eventually. "Game over."

"No," Charles replied softly. "I don't think it is."

Erik understood.

Charles was right.

It wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning.


	2. The Letter

**The Letter**

 _Charles,_

 _I didn't exactly find the time to say thank you for getting me out, so caught up were we in the events which followed, many of which, I admit, were once again my fault. There are several more grievances I now owe you apologies for, but I am afraid this letter does not contain them. Perhaps next time._

 _I am sorry however, for how things worked out between us. You were and remain the closest, if not only, friend I have ever known, and I deeply regret harming that friendship._

 _My chief reason for this letter was simply to say thank you, and to tell you one final thing. Charles, I love you. I needed you to know that._

 _Goodbye old friend,_

 _Erik_

Well.

If that didn't throw a tiger amongst the pigeons, he didn't know what did.

Charles stared at the letter. His first instinct was to go to Cerebro, track down Erik and give him a good mental bollocking. Because, seriously, what was the man thinking? Was Charles just supposed to go _"That's nice"_ and carry on his merry way? Bloody idiot. He was going to slap him the next time he saw him.

Once he'd calmed down a little, Charles re-read the letter. Then he leaned back in his chair, staring out across the grounds, remembering a time when a huge satellite had dominated that skyline. Remembered Erik turning the satellite – which was precisely why it had been torn down, as it no longer worked and no one could figure out how to turn it back – then recalled Erik pushing Sean off the top of it. Poor Sean. He hadn't deserved to go that way, as a test subject in Trask's sick game. He remembered late nights playing chess, the taste of scotch on his tongue. He remembered long days sticking to the PVC car seats with the windows wound down in a vain attempt to cool down. He remembered ice cold water, a body and mind fighting his own.

Erik.

He was a wound that had never healed. Perhaps, Charles now admitted, the letter in hand, because he'd never allowed it to. Perhaps, because that would have needed him to admit the truth to himself. And the truth was dangerous – literally, as it broke the law – to admit. But now Erik had admitted his truth: that he loved Charles. And for the first time, Charles acknowledged the uncomfortable truth that had been swimming around his brain since they'd all reconvened here eleven years ago: his feelings for Erik went deeper than friendship.

He'd fallen in love with his best friend.

Now all that remained was to figure out what exactly he intended to do about it.

XXX

Erik was a wanted terrorist. Every news broadcast began and ended with warnings for the public to be on the lookout for Magneto, and instructions not to approach him, instead advising calling the police immediately. And a warning to keep any and all metal locked up if they thought they saw him.

So any dreams Charles may have had of merrily skipping off into the sunset with Erik were never going to happen. Never mind the fact that skipping was once again on the list of things he was physically incapable of. No, he couldn't just announce he was going after Erik. Apart from the fact Alex and Hank would probably lock him up, thinking he'd gone mad. No, he needed a plan. So Charles fought the urge to race after Erik, and forced himself to slow down. He had to be practical.

He started straight away. He began withdrawing a thousand dollars in cash from his account twice a week. The benefits of being a telepath were many, and amongst them was the ability to remove any suspicion from bank employees when you began making regular large withdrawals from a thus far largely untouched account. What should have started ringing alarm bells, went completely overlooked.

Charles' next priority was Cerebro. Not only so he could track down Erik, but also Raven. Although he couldn't and wouldn't tell her what he was planning or where he was going or with whom, he needed to reach out to her. To let her know that he forgave her everything, and that the school was still her home. Which led to another, more depressing order of business that he shared with no one, knowing they would find out soon enough. Hank's guilt over Cerebro's destruction at Raven's hands lingered, despite Charles' numerous assurances that he did not blame him. He could only assume that was why Hank seemed so reluctant to repair the machine. Eventually though, Alex snapped, "Dude, get your head out of your ass and quit moping. Go fix the damned thing. How else are we gonna find students?" Charles felt a rush of warmth and gratefulness for the blond boy – no – man, and felt safe in the knowledge that Hank and Raven would have Alex's practicality to pull them through the coming months.

Finally, Cerebro was repaired. First, Charles sought out Erik, without delving into the man's mind, simply discovering his location: Krakow, Poland. Then he found Raven, and gently nudged her with the soft words _You're always welcome home_. To his delight, only a few days later, Raven returned. It was only a brief visit, but it was a start. In the meantime, he worked with Hank and Alex in rebuilding the school, preparing for its re-opening. Occasionally Raven would help when she dropped by, although if they ever actively tried to include her, she automatically shut down. Charles did regret it a little that he would never get to see the school fulfil its potential and live up to his dreams. But Hank and Raven and Alex were more than capable. And some things were more important.

He would be unable to take much with him, too much and Raven or Hank would notice items missing and it would make them question. Just two changes of clothes, a few books he refused to leave behind, and a collection of photos: several of himself and Raven; a couple featuring Hank, Alex and even Sean; and one of himself and Erik, taken without their knowledge during the training week eleven years ago. He packed it into a carry-on bag and it, along with the several thousand dollars he'd removed over the past month and a half, was left in a train station locker for collection on his way to the airport.

On his final evening, he spent it with Hank, Alex and Raven. For a brief time, it felt like turning back the clock, as though any minute Sean would come racing in while shouting at the top of his lungs, or Moira would wander through, or Erik would skulk past and try to look like he didn't want to join in their conversation. Charles' heart ached a little. He would miss them so very much. It would be so easy to stay. But he'd made his choice, and hard as it may be, he knew it was something he had to do.

The next morning, before the other three woke, he checked with Cerebro that Erik hadn't moved. To his relief, Erik was still in Krakow. Good. It was time.

"I'm going to clear out the old gardener's shed," he announced at breakfast.

"Why?" Raven exclaimed.

"Because it's disgusting," he shrugged. "There's probably generations of spiders living in there. Not to mention, I'm pretty sure there's paraffin and all sorts of other things I doubt schools are supposed to have where students can access. And with students like ours, I don't want to take that chance."

"Do you want a hand?" Hank asked.

"No thanks," Charles smiled. "I'll manage."

He paused at the door, taking a moment to drink in the sight of Hank hunch over his newspaper, stealing glances at Raven; Raven in her pyjamas still, eating cereal; and Alex rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms and stifling a yawn while he spooned salt into his coffee.

"Goodbye," Charles whispered so none of them could hear.

XXX

"I've been working on a design for a new plane," Hank explained. "It's an updated version of the one I built at the CIA, but it's so much more sophisticated. It should be able to reach speeds of up to-"

"Hank," Raven interrupted. "You realise I understand none of this, right?"

"I know," he shrugged. "Guess I hoped, if I talked long enough it would stop you from leaving again."

"Hank..."

"It kills him, Raven, watching you leave," Hank said. "He misses you."

Raven fished for words, but before she could find them a boom echoed from outside, a flash of fire reflecting off the walls from the windows.

"Alex!" Raven yelled.

"Don't look at me!" Alex's voice floated from upstairs, accompanied by the thundering of footsteps on the stairs, the man himself appearing seconds later. "I was clearing out the first floor dorm rooms."

Raven paled, her skin rippling back to her natural blue unconsciously.

"Charles..." she whispered.

XXX

" _Charles_!"

He pressed his eyes closed, fighting back tears at the utter anguish in Raven's scream. _I'm sorry_. He couldn't turn back now. _Forgive me_. He climbed into the taxi, already hearing the sound of sirens in the distance.

"Something's going on, eh?" the taxi driver said. Charles nodded, willing the lump in his throat to dislodge. "Where to mate?"

"The, uh, train station," Charles replied. "Then JFK please."

Another of the many benefits of being a telepath came when asked for ID. One touch of his temple, and the woman at the ticket desk believed she'd seen his passport. Again at the security check and finally at the gate, and he was seated on the plane to Paris. Ironic, considering the last time he'd flown to Paris four short months ago, he'd been with Erik and now he was chasing after him. It was ridiculous, he realised, what he was doing. Faking his death, chasing a man halfway around the world. It was like something out of a bad romance novel. He promptly ordered a very large scotch as soon as the plane was in the air, hoping it would assuage the feelings of guilt.

He couldn't sleep, choosing instead to stare out of the tiny window at the darkness as it sped past. His thoughts were constantly spinning and turning, drifting from Erik to Raven to Erik to the school to Erik to the past to Erik to the future to Erik, always returning to Erik. He pulled the letter from his jacket pocket, unfolding it carefully and re-reading it again, despite the fact he'd memorised it somewhere between the seventh and eleventh readings. Knowing what it said was different to seeing it written in Erik's handwriting. It was a connection, however intangible, to the man he was running towards.

In Paris he changed terminals, leaving behind the bustle international arrivals for the quieter departures lounge aimed at Eastern Europe. He was surprised, although he knew he shouldn't be, to see just as many signs and newspaper articles warning of the terrorist Magneto in Europe as in New York. It was a reminder to Charles just how dangerous what he was doing could be. Even if he and Erik could figure out a way to make this work that didn't involve them being arrested or killed, there was still the matter of the international arrest warrant on Erik's head.

But then, he and Erik had been defying expectations and rules their entire lives, and only more so since they'd met. If anyone could make this work, it had to be the two of them.

XXX

It was only when he left the airport in Krakow that Charles began to feel nervous. He had no idea how their reunion would go, although hopefully better than their last. He certainly had no intentions of punching Erik again, although he was still considering a mild slap for the letter. Bloody idiot. His fingers tapped impatiently against his knee in the taxi to the address he'd scooped from Erik's neighbour's head via Cerebro. He'd debated long and hard on taking the taxi – no longer having access to virtually unlimited financial funds and all – before deciding that after a day of travelling, the last thing he needed was to search an unfamiliar city for hours in a country whose language he didn't speak. One taxi ride couldn't break the bank after all. He hoped.

Once there, a little telepathy convinced the landlady that Charles was an old friend of Erik's – who he discovered was currently going by the name Henryk – newly arrived in Krakow and to let him into the apartment. It was tiny and not very nice. But Charles didn't really pay attention. Instead he settled in his chair, waiting for Erik to return.

Finally he recognised the familiar tread on the stairs, pausing outside the apartment door. Charles took a deep breath to calm the nerves that he reignited, and when they door flew open he grinned and said, "Is this how you greet all your guests?"


	3. For the Best

**For the Best**

His eyes flew open then somehow he was on his feet although he couldn't remember how. His hand outstretched, his power reaching, lifting a broken lump of stadium and he was Erik and Charles and Erik and Charles all at once, but the overriding impression was of pain, _pain_ , _PAIN!_

Then just as suddenly he was Erik again, standing in the centre of the White House lawn, surrounded by the stadium he'd dropped there, watching Hank haul Charles upright. His neck throbbed where Mystique had shot him; there she was, a few feet away, staring at him, the helmet on the ground between them. Then he understood: Charles had taken advantage of Mystique's removal of his helmet and thrown himself into Erik's mind, stealing his power to free himself. Erik felt sick to his stomach as he realised that the wave of pain he'd felt upon waking was no his own, was not even the combined pain of the men behind him, but simply Charles'.

Charles was in pain, no. No. Charles was in agony. Mental, physical, emotional. All because of Erik.

Again.

As his eyes met Charles', time froze for Erik. A stark fact forced itself to the forefront of his mind: he loved Charles.

He'd spent most of his incarceration, and indeed most of the year before that since Cuba, burying those feelings, telling himself he was wrong, it wasn't love, it couldn't be love. Then he'd been free but too caught up in revenge against the men he deemed responsible for his imprisonment and preemptive revenge against those who would wipe out his race because he could not live through that again. And now Charles had been hurt, yet again, by his thirst for vengeance. Just like Cuba, like Shaw, he'd hurt Charles, possibly irreparably. He'd hurt the man he loved.

Time unfroze, and he heard himself talk.

"If you let them take me, I'm as good as dead."

"I know," Charles replied, gaze unwavering. There was no redemption there, neither did Erik believe he deserved it. Just like he'd said, all those years ago, Shaw had made him a monster. And now, long after the man's corpse had grown cold, his legacy lived on in Erik's veins.

"Goodbye old friend," Erik said. It was for the best. He had to leave, he had to let Charles have a chance at a life untainted by Erik and his hate. After all, how could anyone, let alone someone like Charles, possibly love a monster like him?

"Goodbye Erik," Charles replied.

Erik's eyes flickered to Mystique's – no, she was Raven once more. Charles' Raven – but did not expect to find any sympathy there. He found precious little. He knew her heart belonged with Charles, with Hank, even if she did not. It was okay though, she was not the monster he was. For her, there remained hope. For him, there was none. He spread his hands, manipulating the earth's magnetic forces to fly once more, feeling Charles' eyes on him the entire time but unable to meet them.

It was for the best.


	4. Small Steps

**Small Steps**

Eleven years ago, in the days following his paralysis, Charles would often dream himself waking unable to move at all before he really woke, sweating and shaking and wishing desperately for Erik or Raven's presence. It had taken months to shake, only for it to return when he began using the serum. It had haunted him for years, until he managed to drink it away. So his first thought upon opening his eyes and realising he couldn't move was one of resignation. _Here we go again_. Until he realised that, no, he _was_ awake, and his inability to move was due instead to the fact that at some point Erik had completely and utterly wrapped himself around Charles in the night, and was seemingly content to sleep like that. It was a little strange, because neither of them were the cuddling sort, but not uncomfortable.

Charles was pretty sure he should be worried, or at least a little concerned, at being held so tightly he couldn't move. But the gentle hum of protection and safe emanating from Erik's mind told him he had nothing to fear. He was able to fold one arm, allowing his hand to rest on Erik's wrist. He didn't try to remove Erik's grasp; he simply relaxed into the hold and let himself drift off again.

When he woke for a second time, Erik was already up and in the shower and neither of them said anything about it.

XXX

"We need a story," Erik declared. "For why you are living with me."

"I agree," Charles nodded. "We don't need anyone looking too closely."

Erik nodded guiltily. He was certain Charles would eventually turn around and realise that it was far too much work to stay here with Erik and leave. He was a telepath; it wouldn't be that hard for him to 'resurrect' himself from the dead. Yes, Raven would be severely pissed, but Charles would charm his way through that until they went back to their old lives, and Erik was alone again. He jumped as Charles' hand tentatively took his.

"You look miles away," Charles murmured. Erik almost laughed. In many ways, he'd been back in Westchester, imagining the life Charles could be living without him. But, he forced himself to remember, Charles was _here_. With him.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Charles smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go. Erik wished he hadn't. Their physical contact had been minimal over the past week; other than the necessary, such as helping Charles with the bath, it was generally limited to the occasional hand pat or shoulder squeeze. If anything, their declaration of love had made things harder, not easier. Normal couples had the luxury of time and no expectations to explore their relationship. But, Erik reasoned, when had they ever done anything the normals way?

"The obvious answer of course," Charles was saying. "Is to use this -" he patted the arm of his wheelchair, "- to our advantage. I am your friend from Germany, recently injured, with no family, recently divorced-"

"Nice touch," Erik smirked.

"Thank you," Charles grinned. "You very generously opened your home to me, as due to my injury I am unable to support myself."

"And how did your injury occur?" Erik asked, trying to ignore the flutter of guilt in his gut and the voice in his head whispering _By your hand_.

"Car accident," Charles replied. "A shooting opens too many questions."

"Good," Erik nodded.

Then Charles' hand was on his own again. Erik looked up in surprise.

"I don't blame you, you know," Charles said.

"I know," Erik replied. "You said."

"No, I mean, I want to be here," Charles explained. "I chose to come here, on my own. I had the option to stay. Well, technically. It was never really an option. From the moment I read that letter I wanted to find you. Initially because I wanted to slap you."

"I'm glad you changed your mind then," Erik teased.

"Only for you dear," Charles retorted.

Erik chuckled, until Charles pulled his head forward to plant a kiss on the crown of his head. Erik let his hand twist into Charles' shirt instead of pulling back. He felt Charles' hand settle on his back and his chin in Erik's hair.

"I missed you," Charles admitted quietly, his breath tickling Erik's ear.

Silently Erik returned the sentiment, unable to bring himself to say the words out loud. Instead he settled further into Charles' embrace, revelling in the first real contact since his breakout from prison three months ago.

XXX

Erik trudged up the stairs towards his apartment, contemplating using his powers to levitate but quickly dismissing it, just in case someone saw him. Why anyone other than himself would be in the hallway at half past midnight was a mystery, but it was a risk he wasn't willing to take. Not now, not when he had this fledgling relationship with Charles to consider.

After what felt like forever, he reached his floor. It took him an embarrassing number of attempts to find the keyhole then, finally, he stumbled in to the apartment. Unexpectedly however, the light was still on. Blinking furiously, trying to convince his tired eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, he paused, then to his surprise his eyes fell on Charles, lying on the bed but still fully dressed and on top of the covers, a medical journal slipping out of his hand. It took Erik a moment to comprehend that Charles must've tried to stay awake to see him when he returned home. He swallowed. He'd never had anyone to do anything like that for him before.

Crossing the room, he sat carefully on the bed, squeezing Charles' shoulder until the man blinked awake. When his eyes focused on Erik, a smile spread across Charles' face.

"You're home," he mumbled.

Erik nodded.

"You didn't have to wait up," he said.

"It would seem I didn't," Charles joked. "Long night?"

Erik nodded again.

"Come to bed," Charles murmured.

Instead Erik leaned down and pressed his lips to Charles', briefly before pulling back a little. Almost instantly Charles reached up and re-closed the distance between them. Erik relaxed into the kiss. He pushed off his shirt before slipping a hand under Charles' torso, smiling as Charles' hand caught in his hair.

When they broke apart again, Charles said, "That was... good."

Erik nodded. But he could see the exhaustion in Charles' eyes; no doubt it was mirrored in his own.

"Maybe we should continue this when you're not falling asleep," he teased.

"Sorry."

But Erik shook his head.

"Don't be."

He pulled Charles in for one final kiss before easing off of the bed and stumbling towards the bathroom. He changed as quickly as possible, tossing his dirty clothes straight into the washer, but by the time he returned Charles had already changed and climbed into bed. Erik joined him, leaning across to brush their lips again.

"Goodnight," Charles murmured.

"Gute nacht," Erik replied, flopping back onto his own side of the bed.

XXX

It was a routine established from Charles' very first night in Krakow; Erik would go to sleep immediately, tired from working and unable to read in bed. Charles, on the contrary, couldn't sleep without reading something, and much preferred to stay up late and sleep in in the morning. Luckily, leaving the lamp on so he could read didn't disturb Erik, so they'd fallen into the routine without discussing it. That night however, as Charles read the latest paper on spinal cord injuries, he didn't notice Erik's eyes snap open suddenly, only registering his other half's return to consciousness when Erik sat up, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

"Erik?" Charles frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Erik muttered.

Charles didn't believe him. He reached forward, rubbing Erik's shoulder gently. Erik glanced at him, and after a moment's hesitation lay down with his head buried in Charles' stomach, arms winding tightly around his torso. Immediately Charles tossed aside the journal, manoeuvring himself down so Erik's head ended up on his shoulder instead.

"I'm not going anywhere," Charles told him softly. "And before you say it, you were projecting."

Charles' flat tone on the second statement distracted Erik for a moment. He pushed himself up onto an elbow and frowned.

"Why would you say it like that?" he asked.

"You don't like me in your head," Charles shrugged. "You're not the only one. You, Raven. I try to stay away."

"Don't," Erik snapped. "Don't."

"But-"

"Don't hide," Erik insisted. "Not with me. How can I claim to love you if I make you hide? It would imply I only love part of you. And I don't."

"Erik... Are you sure?"

Was he sure? Absolutely. Hiding away, never using his powers outside these four walls unless absolutely necessary, living in fear again; Erik had never been more certain. He'd always maintained they shouldn't have to hide – still maintained it – but he had swallowed his pride, because now he had something more important, something he didn't want to lose.

But instead, he simply replied, "I trust you."

Charles smiled, even as Erik wound himself around Charles' body again in a grip that should have been uncomfortable – would have been uncomfortable – if it had been anyone else and if he hadn't felt the same undertone of _protection_ and _safe_ coming from Erik's mind.

"What's going on in your head?" he whispered.

He felt rather than saw Erik's smile against his shoulder.

"I just gave you permission to look."

"I'd rather hear it from you."

Erik fell silent, but Charles didn't push him. He meant what he said; he wanted to hear it from Erik. When you could delve into a person's mind without a second thought and know their deepest, darkest secrets in an instant, you came to value the spoken word and the ritual of sharing secrets. So he simply waited, his hand carding gently through Erik's hair.

"This is the first time in thirty years I've had something to lose," Erik revealed eventually.

"You won't lose me," Charles promised.

"You can't promise that," Erik argued.

"Yes I can," Charles replied, burying his face against Erik's forehead. "Telepath darling. I'll wipe the memories of the whole world if I have to."

Erik hummed against his collarbone, but didn't speak. It wasn't long before his breathing had evened out, although his grip didn't lessen in ferocity. Charles didn't mind though. He could submit to having the life squeezed out of him every once in a while to calm Erik's fears.


	5. New Dawn

**New Dawn**

It took every ounce of Erik's not inconsiderable restraint not to react. He folded his arms, shifted from foot to foot, and pressed his lips together lest something should slip out. He was making an effort. He was _trying_. And he refused to spoil this.

Luckily, Charles had no such qualms.

He snorted and burst out laughing, attempting somewhat futilely to muffle the sound with the back of his hand. Erik's own lips twitched. Then he met Charles' gaze and broke. He joined in Charles' laughter, ignoring the glares they received from other patrons.

"I'm sorry," Charles gasped eventually, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. "But that is _awful_."

"Awful is too good to describe that," Erik retorted.

"I'm being generous," Charles scolded. "But, yes, you're right. How on earth anyone thinks that is art is beyond me."

They continued through the gallery, but the standard of the 'art' did not improve. After receiving more and more angry responses, they decided to cut their losses and abandon the art gallery.

"I am so sorry my friend," Charles said as they returned to the streets. "If I'd known it would be that awful, I never would have suggested it."

"I'll forgive you," Erik smiled. "Since it's you."

"What's next on the list?" Charles asked.

Erik pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his jeans pocket.

It had started a few weeks ago. Erik had found himself caught in a conundrum. He was a forty three year old man for heaven's sake, not a teenage girl. He should not be spending this much time dwelling on the best way to ask a man out, particularly a man he was already living with. But it just wasn't that simple. They couldn't have a regular date, because people would see and they would know and they would come after them. But Erik wanted to do something for Charles, wanted to find a way to show him he was serious and committed to finding a way for this – them – to work. Besides, Charles' world in Krakow extended to their flat, the library and the grocery store. It was hardly the freedom he was accustomed to. And perhaps therein lay the solution.

"Do you want to see more of the city?" Erik had asked, dropping into the chair opposite him.

Charles raised his eyebrows at the unexpected question.

"I'd love to," he replied.

"Okay," Erik nodded, before leaving a bemused Charles at the table.

The next day, he made a hurried trip during his lunch break, and when he returned to the apartment that evening, he presented the results of his excursion to Charles. Who remained bemused.

"What's this?"

"Ideas," Erik had shrugged, before vanishing into the bathroom to shower. Charles sifted through the pile of leaflets, clearly taken from the tourism office, and smiled. That unpredictable, crazy man.

And thus, the list was born. When he wasn't reading about genetics or spinal cord injuries, Charles began researching their new home. Krakow was one of Poland's leading academic, cultural and artistic centres, often cited as one of Europe's most beautiful cities. As such, there was much to explore. And this was where the list came in. One afternoon, with the leaflets Erik had collected and a guide book borrowed from the library, Charles has started scribbling down ideas of places to go on a scrap of paper. Over the following days, the list grew. Krakow had 28 museums and public galleries; it was just their bad luck that they had randomly chosen the one with the strangest collection either of them had ever seen. Other items on the list included the Krakow Philharmonic, Wawel Castle, and Remah Synagogue.

Erik perched on the edge of a wall, therefore bringing himself level with Charles so they could study the list together. And if he sat a little closer to Charles than was strictly necessary, no one was paying them enough attention to notice. Besides, the little smile Charles fought and failed to conceal made it worth it.

"Why don't we just head to the Main Market Square?" Charles suggested. "It's far too nice a day to spend hidden away inside."

"Spoken like a true Englishman," Erik smirked.

Charles stuck out his tongue, eliciting a laugh from his friend.

They took their time, making a circuit of the square, pausing every so often to look at the architecture. Then they parked themselves on a bench beside St Mary's Basilica, facing the Cloth Hall, to eat lunch.

"Try this," Erik said when he returned from the nearby street vendor. He held out what appeared to be a paper-wrapped half baguette, covered with cheese and mushrooms and toasted, with a liberal garnish of ketchup on top.

"What is it?" Charles asked.

"Zapiekanki," Erik replied. "It's new, but it's good."

Charles shrugged.

"I'll try anything once," he grinned. "You know," he commented between bites. "It really is a beautiful city."

Erik regarded the square around him properly, with new eyes. He'd never really taken the time to look at his surroundings before, not properly. Krakow had simply become his destination because it was far away from America and Washington DC and a certain telepath, hopefully far enough away that he would avoid the attention of the authorities. His grandparents had been from Krakow, although he had no memories of them. They died when he was a child. But it was a connection, one not even Charles was aware of, and it gave him a starting point. It was never supposed to become his home. He'd supposed that eventually he would carry on with his cause. But that was before Charles, before the letter, before that idiotic telepath had faked his own death to follow a wanted terrorist halfway across the globe.

Now, looking at the city properly for the first time, Erik realised Charles was right. It was a beautiful city. Even though Poland was still largely grey, fighting its way through Communist restrictions, the beauty in the old architecture could still be seen. It was, Erik mused, a gift of Charles', to be able to see the good through layers of dirt and grime. He smiled.

"Yes," he agreed. "It is."

"I'm glad I'm here," Charles said. "With you."

Erik caught his eye, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. Almost unrecognisable, Erik realised it was the feeling of being wanted.

"Me too," he nodded.

XXX

It was strange, Erik reflected, how such small changes could make such a huge difference to one room. Yes, the studio apartment was still small and damp and whenever it became cold the windows fogged up with condensation. But with the addition of a pair of lamps on either bedside cabinet, the room appeared so much warmer with the extra light. Even the pile of medical journals on one side made him smile, and the shoes at the door made him roll his eyes – if only because he liked to irk Charles by calling his shoes off at the door rule ridiculous. Really, it was simple what the difference was: the room now looked lived in, instead of merely habited.

"I had fun today," Charles commented. He sat leaning against the headboard on his side of the bed, pillows in place to support his back, while Erik was stretched out across the bed, propped up on one elbow, his other hand gently carding Charles' ankle through his slacks. The remains of their dinner lay abandoned on the cabinet on Erik's side of the bed.

"Me too," Erik agreed.

"Despite the terrible art," Charles smirked and Erik's head fell back as he laughed. His grip on Charles' ankle tightened, and he noticed Charles' gaze fall on it.

"You feel that?" Erik asked.

Charles shrugged.

"Maybe. Sometimes I think..." He sighed. "I don't know."

Erik could see the doubt clouding over Charles' eyes and pushed himself up, crawling up the mattress until he was level with his lover. Placing his hand on Charles' waist, where he knew the other man could feel it, he leaned down and kissed him. Eventually breaking the languid embrace, he stared down at Charles and said, "I love you."

"I know," Charles smiled, running his hand up Erik's neck into his hair. "I love you too Erik."

Erik recaptured Charles' lips, enjoying how slow and relaxed they could be. There was no hurry. They had all the time in the world. It was a new experience. But one he already knew he never wanted to lose.

XXX

Erik woke to the feeling of warm contentment that follows a well-earned rest. He stretched, opening his eyes slowly, while coming to the realisation that he'd slept later than he had in years. If ever. Letting his head fall to the side, he smiled when he found Charles, still sound asleep on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow. Erik raised his hand, running his knuckles gently over Charles' side, earning grunt from his sleeping companion. He smirked, but didn't cease.

"Are you trying to wake me up?" Charles mumbled. "Because it's working, and I'm not happy about it."

Erik chuckled. With a sigh, Charles pushed himself up onto his elbows, leaning across to brush his lips against Erik's.

"Morning," he murmured.

"Morning," Erik echoed.

Charles fell back down against the pillows, in no hurry to shift out of bed and away from his partner. Really though, they needed a better title for whatever they were. 'Partner' just seemed so impersonal, and 'boyfriend' far too juvenile. 'Husband' had a nice ring to it. Suddenly he realised Erik's face had fallen slightly, a small frown creasing between his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Charles asked.

When Charles had reached up, the sheet covering his back had slipped down, so when he lay down again, Erik saw the small, round patch of puckered skin next to a surgical scar at the base of Charles' back. Reaching out, he let his fingertips ghost over the puckered skin.

"It's the first time I've seen them," Erik murmured.

"It was an accident," Charles whispered. "We were all to blame."

Erik continued to run his fingers across both the bullet hole and the scar to repair the damage, without putting pressure on them, exploring every ridge and curve to them.

"Erik, stop it," Charles said. Erik quirked an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored him. "Stop," Charles repeated. "It's... sensitive."

Erik smirked.

"Sensitive?" he echoed, still continuing to let his fingers run over the damaged skin.

"Yes," Charles replied. He narrowed his eyes. "You're an arse."

Erik grinned and dropped a kiss to his shoulder. Suddenly an idea struck him. He glanced up at Charles, who clearly interpreted exactly what the twinkle in Erik's eyes meant.

"Don't you bloody dare," he warned.

Now there was a red rag to a bull.

Erik leaned down slowly and pressed his lips to the skin above the scar. Charles stilled. Erik ran his hand across Charles' lower back, before placing one last kiss above the scar and moving up to lie next to him.

"You're evil," Charles muttered.

"Old news," Erik smiled, leaning into his side.

"But I love you anyway," Charles continued, taking Erik's hand in his own.

"Good."

"Do you have work today?"

"No," Erik replied, dropping his face into Charles' hair.

"Good," Charles murmured.


	6. Ghosts

**TRIGGER WARNING: contains details of the holocaust and the methods of torture used by the Nazis in the death camps; mentions of canonical torture and character death; mentions of historical homophobia.**

 **Okay, this chapter is pretty heavy and needs quite a large disclaimer. I have never visited Auschwitz, but spent a lot of time on the website of the museum reading about the history and looking at pictures so I could get the descriptions as accurate as possible. Unfortunately the only relatives who've been are also ones I don't talk to, so I couldn't even ask them for information. Part of me would like to go, but another part suspects I would struggle as I suspect my anxiety would come in to play in a large way, as I am affected quite strongly by those things. But that is what allows me to be creative, so I can't complain too much. If I have made any glaring errors, PLEASE tell me and I will adjust this chapter. Usually I am willing to take liberties with the truth for the sake of a story, but in this case, out of respect, I would like this to be as accurate as possible. Also, if my translations of the German are way off, I apologise. Again, let me know and I will adjust them. I don't speak German at all I'm afraid!**

 **However, when I was on holiday recently, I visited an old jail and as part of the tour we went to the gallows which were inside a small building. I don't know if it's just me and my anxiety, but it felt very oppressive. Perhaps it was the lighting, or the fact that I knew multiple people had died in that room, but I think this has given me a tiny taste of what it would be like to visit Auschwitz.**

 **Finally, it's my headcannon in the movieverse that Peter's mother is Marya, because Erik's wife and Nina's mum was Magda. So although Magda doesn't come in to this story, I've stuck to this to make it consistent across my stories.**

 **XXX**

 **Ghosts**

Part of him, a very big and vocal part of him, thought he was crazy. That same part insisted Charles would think he was crazy too. But Erik knew Charles, knew him better than anyone in the world, and he knew his other half - as he'd come to refer to Charles due to a lack of suitable alternatives - would understand why he felt the need to do this, to visit that place. If only he could figure out a way to bring it up.

Luckily, Charles solved that problem for him.

"What's wrong?" he asked halfway through dinner. "I can hear you thinking."

"I've told you before, you can look," Erik smiled.

"And I've told you, I'd rather hear it from you," Charles retorted. Then his voice softened. "What is it?"

"I think I'd like to go back," Erik blurted out, unable to meet Charles' eyes.

"Back?" Charles echoed.

Erik nodded.

"To... To..." He couldn't say the name. He settled for, "To the camp."

Only then could he force himself to look towards Charles. To his relief, he found no judgement there, only understanding.

"Okay," Charles said simply.

"You don't think I'm crazy?" Erik checked.

"No, I think it's a perfectly rational idea," Charles replied. "Psychologically speaking, it makes a lot of sense. Returning to a scene of trauma can be very beneficial in moving on from it. When shall we go?"

A sudden rush of affection and love for the telepath overcame Erik. Charles hadn't asked, hadn't even paused, before assuming he would accompany Erik to Auschwitz. Erik was reminded, as he so often was, of Charles' insistence that they were partners in this new life together. And despite holding on to the belief that working alone was better and safer for so long, Erik found he rather liked being part of this particular partnership.

XXX

Oświęcim is thirty one miles west of Krakow, so they took the train across the countryside. The Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, founded in 1947, sits in the village of Brzezinka, to the west of the railway station. The museum includes the grounds of both Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II – Birkenau, covering a total of 470 acres.

Erik could feel his heart pounding in his ears as the gravel of the path crunched under his boots on the approach to the entrance to Auschwitz I. Charles was a comfortingly solid presence at his side and in his mind, lingering on the outer reaches of Erik's thoughts as a reminder that he was safe and not alone. The famous sign declaring _Arbeit Macht Frei_ loomed ahead. The last time he'd seen it, it had been raining, and he'd been crushed on all sides by people taller and older than him. Now, it was dry, albeit dull and overcast, and only a few other visitors traversed the path towards the camp, and it was he who loomed over Charles.

"Are you sure about this?" Charles murmured. "You don't have to do this."

"I think I do," Erik replied. His voice sounded strange, even to his own ears.

"Okay, but you don't have to do it today," Charles said. "If you feel it's too much, we can come back."

"No, I want to do this," Erik insisted. He forced a brief smile, but from Charles' expression he gathered it wasn't very reassuring.

Charles quickly realised that hearing and reading about the horrors of the concentration camps could not compare with seeing them in reality. Even Erik's memories, as horrible as they had been, lacked something. It was the eeriness of the place. The hushed silence, out of respect for the millions who'd suffered, coupled with the knowledge of what had happened in these walls made his skin crawl. Staring through the glass at the objects which had been ripped from their owners – such simple and small things, taken for granted by most – made bile rise in his throat. Perhaps it was because he knew Erik, because he loved someone who'd gone through the horror of this place, that he felt it so strongly. But he could barely stand the sight of cloth woven from human hair, or the piles of spectacles not unlike the ones his grandfather had worn, or perhaps most chillingly of all, the mound of artificial limbs. Charles gripped the arms of his wheelchair. It would've been torn from him and him from it, before being thrown straight into a gas chamber, and that knowledge was terrifying. Then there were the shoes, and worst of all, the dolls. One reminded Charles so strongly of a doll he'd given Raven as a child, that he had to look away.

They moved from block 5 into block 6, where they found an exhibition on the children incarcerated there. Charles found himself glancing between Erik and the pictures of corpse-like children, the image of Erik as a boy coming to him from the memories he'd observed. They passed into a new room, where the prisoners were registered, with a display of the synonymous blue and white striped pyjamas. Charles glanced at Erik and realised Erik's right hand had unconsciously begun to claw at his left forearm where black ink still stood out against his skin.

 _An SS soldier pushed him forward with the butt of his gun. He stumbled, colliding with the back of several other prisoners. Blushing, he ducked his head. Then he scanned the room, hoping desperately to find his parents in the crowd._

 _Mama! Where are you?_

 _He was too old to cry for his mother, but, oh, how he wanted his mother right now. He felt tears burn behind his eyes. A different SS soldier – they all looked the same – snatched his registration card, showed it to yet another SS soldier, who grabbed his arm and stuck a needle into his forearm. He cried out, much to the amusement of the soldiers. Black numbers appeared on his arm, and he realised in horror that he had been reduced to nothing more than a number. His arm still stinging, he was pushed further down the room where photographs were taken of him. All throughout, he was aware of being watched, of a pair of eyes fixed on him. A man in an immaculate three piece suit stared at him through round spectacles, all cold eyes and a small, cruel smile._

" _Him," the man declared, pointing at him. "I want him."_

Gently, Charles took Erik's wrist, pulling his hand from his arm. Erik turned to him in surprise; he hadn't even realised what he was doing, despite the fact his skin was marred with red marks from his fingernails. Upon realising what he'd done, Erik stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

Emerging from the room into a corridor, the walls of which were lined with row after row of registered prisoners; Erik moved slowly, Charles following. He watched Erik study the faces, waiting for an inevitable spark of recognition there. Charles turned to the opposite wall and found his breath stolen from him. There, subtitled with the familiar numbers 214784, was Erik. His vision blurred with sudden tears. Despite everything – Erik's memories, the tattoo, the coin – it was this irrevocable proof that drove home to him the fact that Erik had been here, lived here, suffered here. Charles quickly wiped the moisture away from his eyes. To his relief Erik had missed his own portrait, although he had stopped, a few metres ahead. When Charles approached he realised Erik was fixated on one photo, of a young girl with hollow cheeks and high cheekbones. Charles frowned. There was something familiar about that face.

"Her name was Marya," Erik revealed. "We escaped together. We lived together then."

"What happened?" Charles asked.

"She left."

Charles returned his attention to the photo. He frowned. There was definitely something familiar about the girl's face.

"I know her," he said before he could stop himself. "At least, I think I've met her."

"How?" Erik frowned.

"I don't know..." Charles replied.

Then Erik turned and froze. Charles followed his eye line and found himself looking at the picture of a man not unlike the one next to him. Between the facial similarities and the look of horror on Erik's face, Charles knew exactly who he was seeing.

"That's your father, isn't it?" he whispered. Erik nodded, unable to speak. "Do you know... What, how...?"

"He was made to work as a sonderkommando, then when he became too weak, he was sent to the chambers," Erik replied.

 _Oh my love, I am so very sorry._

Charles couldn't speak out loud in that moment. He couldn't stop himself from saying something that could only lead to trouble. How ironic, that even thirty years later, standing in a place where thousands of men and women had been killed simply for loving the so-called 'wrong' way, he still could not comfort Erik the way he wanted for fear of persecution. Humanity had not moved on as far as it liked to believe.

They couldn't find the photograph of Erik's mother. Privately Charles wondered if this was for the best.

They passed through block 8 and 9 in silence, but when they approached block 11 – known, Charles knew, as the block of death – Erik stopped suddenly.

"I don't want to go in there Charles," Erik murmured. "I can't"

"Okay," Charles replied. "We don't have to go in there. We can leave right now if you want."

Erik didn't move; his eyes were stuck on the red brick building ahead of them.

"They put me in there," he revealed. "When Shaw ran, when the Russians were approaching. They didn't know what do with me, so they locked me in there. I thought I was going to die, I should've died. It's where I met Marya; four of us trapped in the standing cells. She'd tried to escape. They were going to shoot her, but the Russians arrived first."

 _Every nerve and muscle ached. If there was room, he would've fallen. But he couldn't; he was pressed against three other bodies, unable to move. He hated it, being this close to these skeletal strangers. He could feel them staring at him, judging him, because although he'd suffered, he was not as emaciated as them. He could hear them wondering where he'd come from, how he'd survived so well._

 _One of them was a girl. She might be his age, it was impossible to tell. Her face was impossibly hollow, the skin hanging off of her high cheekbones. Her eyes met his and he felt a spark of companionship for the first time in almost a year._

Charles sat silently, allowing Erik time to process his memories and emotions, sending him waves of love and companionship and safety as a gentle reminder that he was here by his side if Erik needed him.

"Do you want to leave?" Charles asked eventually.

Slowly Erik shook his head.

"Just... Just not in there," he replied gruffly.

"Okay," Charles nodded.

They turned and walked away, moving up and down the rows of red brick buildings in silence. Charles could feel the pain and anger coming off of Erik in waves, but other than a reassurance that he was here and Erik was safe, he didn't intervene. This was something Erik had chosen to do, however painful, and Charles would respect that. Still, the eeriness continued to haunt him. It was so quiet. Not just because there were only a few visitors that day – probably a good thing, what with the whole Erik's a wanted terrorist thing – no, the air seemed heavy, thick. Charles had always firmly been of the opinion that there was no afterlife; firstly because he was a scientist, and secondly because he'd felt people die. He knew that when they died, they were gone, because he'd felt them go. But here, in this place, he could almost change his mind. It felt... crowded and claustrophobic, even though they were alone. He didn't like it.

Suddenly Erik stopped. Charles felt the metal of his chair begin to vibrate, quickly followed by his watch and belt buckle. A quick glance around confirmed his suspicions that the wire fence had also began to hum.

"Erik," he said. "Erik, come back to me. Please."

Erik took a shuddering breath; the fence stopped rattling, but Charles could still feel the tremor in his chair and watch. Then he realised the cause of Erik's distress.

The building in front of them looked no different than the dozens of others they'd passed. But Charles knew this one was different. He recognised the building instantly. Above the door a sign declared: Haftl.-Krankenbau Chirurgische-Abt. _Prison Infirmary Surgical Division_. And below: Entritt Verboten. _Entry Forbidden_.

The building where Shaw or Schmit had performed dozen of operations and experiments on Erik to try to provoke and understand the root of Erik's powers. Charles had once noticed the face of the infamous Josef Mengele in the audience, eager to watch, if unable to understand. For a man driven by peace, Charles felt an overwhelming amount of hate in that moment, and found that he didn't regret Sebastian Shaw's death – or the pain he himself had suffered for it – one bit.

Then he turned back to Erik and the fury dissipated instantly. Erik's eyes shone, and his shoulder's actually shook with barely contained tears.

"Come here," Charles ordered gently.

It was all it took. Erik fell to his knees, arms instantly encircling Charles' waist, and Charles felt his shirt grow damp. He wound a hand into Erik's hair, the other running comfortingly up and down Erik's back.

"Shh, it's okay, you are safe, he is gone, and you are not alone," Charles whispered. "You are not alone. Erik, you are not alone."

 _Scalpels glinted in the light, but he couldn't stop it. He tried and tried, reaching out for the metal, just wanting to_ stop _it._

" _I'm going to count to three..."_

 _The table was cold against his back. The vice on his head was tight. He tried to unscrew the clamps, but he just_ couldn't _do it._

" _Eins..."_

 _He couldn't feel the coin. He couldn't move it._

" _Zwei..."_

 _She was gone, his mother was gone. They'd taken away his freedom, they'd taken away his name, and now they'd taken away his mother. He screamed. Suddenly he could feel every piece of metal in the room, feel it leaping to his command._

" _Drei..."_

 _BANG!_

Charles noticed a guard looking at them suspiciously, but he would not and could not push Erik away for propriety's sake at a time like this. Instead he carefully unwound Erik's left arm from his waist, turning it so the guard could see the number tattooed on the forearm and fixing the man with a look. The guard's face dawned in comprehension, followed quickly by compassion. He nodded, Charles returned it, then the guard moved away, giving them a moment of privacy. Charles relaxed, turning his attention back fully to Erik.

"You are not alone," he repeated. "You're safe. I'm here. I love you."

XXX

The journey home was silent, from the train ride to the walk back to their apartment. Once Erik had closed the door and bolted the collection of deadbolts, he turned and found Charles standing shakily. His eyes widened. Charles was still very much in the early days of being able to stand again. But there he stood, arms open. For the first time that day, Erik smiled. He stepped forward into Charles' arms, keeping one hand on Charles' back for support. He felt Charles smile against his shoulder.

"Thank you," Erik muttered.

Despite everything, he felt better. He felt like a few of the ghosts that haunted him had been left back in the camp, where they belonged. He doubted he would ever have had the courage to face it alone.

Charles pulled back a little.

"Marry me," he said.


	7. Old Habits

**Old Habits**

Erik was a determined man. A patient one too. He had systematically tracked down everyone connected to Shaw until he found the man himself – with a little help from a certain telepath – and killed him as he'd sworn he would sixteen years earlier. Then he'd survived ten years in that blank prison cell underneath the Pentagon where it would've been so simple, so easy to go mad. And he'd waited eleven years before he admitted to Charles that he loved him. Yes, Erik knew all about being patient and determined.

And secrets. Which was how he'd managed it.

It had been surprisingly difficult, keeping it secret from Charles. Not because Charles was a telepath – despite having Erik's permission to enter his head, Charles rarely did so out of respect from him – but because he simply didn't want to keep anything from Charles. They'd laid the foundations for a relationship built on trust, which had only been further strengthened by their recent trip to Auschwitz. It was the first time he'd ever broken down to anyone about what had happened to him that day. He'd never even spoken about it to Marya, despite the fact that she too had suffered there and lost several of her own family members.

As he climbed the stairs to the first floor apartment that had become home, Erik ran his fingers over the velvet covered box in his pocket. After weeks of working extra shifts and late nights – which, contrary to what he'd told Charles, where at his request not that of his supervisor – in order to make some extra money. It had been almost painful, losing so much time with Charles. But it would be worth it, Erik hoped, for Charles' expression when he presented him with the results.

" _Marry me," Charles said._

 _Erik stared at him. Of all the things he'd expected to hear in that moment, that was not one of them._

" _I know we can't, not yet," Charles continued. "But I have faith that one day, somewhere, we will be able to get married. And I would very much like to marry you when that day comes."_

" _Yes," Erik replied._

 _Charles gave him a winning smile, before leaning forward and kissing him enthusiastically._

After finishing the dinner Charles had prepared while Erik showered, Erik shooed the telepath away, insisting on clearing away the dishes himself. He dropped the plates into the sink, pausing to reach into his pocket to check on the box again as he had several times since transferring them from his work jeans to his chinos in the bathroom.

"I've missed you," Charles called, transferring himself from his wheelchair onto the bed. There was no room in their tiny studio apartment for a sofa, so the bed had to double up. "All those extra shifts. How much longer will that be going on?"

"No longer," Erik replied.

"Really?" Charles grinned. "Splendid."

"Actually," Erik continued, stepping out of the kitchenette. "I have a confession to make on that front."

Charles frowned.

"I asked for the extra shifts," Erik explained. He slowly crossed the room until he sat on his own side of the bed. "They weren't compulsory."

"Then why...?" Charles asked.

"Because I was saving," Erik replied. "For these."

Charles wasn't sure whether to be worried or angry that Erik had lied about working late. It sounded like something out of a typical romance novel. But this was _Erik_ for heavens sake! He watched Erik reach into his pocket and pull out a small, blue velvet covered box. He flicked it open and held it out.

"Oh Erik," Charles breathed. "They're beautiful."

"You like them?" Erik asked gruffly.

"I love them," Charles insisted.

A pair of matching rings sat in the box, a pale yellow gold with a single diamond embedded in the band. They were perfectly innocuous to anyone else, but to them they signalled a promise and so much more. Charles felt his breath catch in his throat.

"You didn't make them?" he croaked.

"That would've been easy," Erik replied. "Using my powers, it's simple. I wanted to work for them, to show you that-"

Before he could finish, Charles cut him off by pulling him into a kiss.

"God, I love you," he muttered when they broke apart.

"I'll make the ones for our wedding," Erik promised.

Charles laughed, then Erik flicked his wrist and the rings floated into the air between them. Charles caught one and slipped it onto Erik's ring finger. The feeling of the metal on his skin was soothing to him, and he couldn't deny the smile it inspired, nor how it spread into a grin as he placed its partner onto Charles' finger.

"One day," Erik promised.

"One day," Charles agreed.


	8. Balance

**Originally this chapter was going to be their first fight which resulted in more Erik being broody. But then I decided we'd had rather a lot of broody Erik lately, and I wanted to set him on the road to becoming the Erik we see at the start of X-Men Apocalypse – only with Charles instead of Magda. Plus, I wanted to have Charles being more of a dick, because it really bugs me when he's portrayed as totally innocent (He's an arrogant little bugger, but Erik loves him). And so, here is the result.**

 **Balance**

All throughout dinner, Charles shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His face twisted often, clearly in pain. And Erik suspected than his sudden inexplicable bad mood – which had struck as soon as he arrived home – was actually second-hand psychic feedback from his telepath.

"What's wrong with you?" Erik asked. He'd never been one to beat around the bush after all.

"What? Nothing," Charles scowled.

"Don't insult my intelligence," Erik replied. "Come on, what is it?"

"I said, it's nothing," Charles sniped.

"Charles-"

"Erik, shut up," Charles snapped. "Just drop it."

Erik was so stunned that all he could do was blink at his fiancé. Charles had never spoken to him like that before. No, that was a lie. Once, he'd spoken to Erik like that once, a little under a year ago, in an elevator in the Pentagon right after Charles punched him and right before guards entered the kitchen with plastic weapons. But never since they'd begun this new life together.

It stung.

"I only wanted to help," he managed eventually.

"Well, you can't," Charles snapped waspishly.

A burning knot appeared in Erik's throat, making it difficult to swallow. His first instinct was to lash out, to fight, to demand dominance. But he quickly quashed it. He didn't want to fight with Charles. Particularly not when he didn't have the faintest idea what this was about.

"Right," he nodded, pushing back his chair. Retrieving his jacket from the closet, he pulled it on under Charles' frown.

"Where are you going?" Charles asked.

"...I don't know," Erik replied. He held out his hand, using his powers for once, his keys flying across the room into his palm. But he paused at the door to add, "I'll be back later." He might have been hurt and confused, but he didn't want Charles to believe he was leaving.

Leaving the building, he turned up his collar against the evening chill and stalked off into the night. He paid no attention to his destination; he just needed to get out, to get away, to get some space. Eventually he stopped, finally taking note of his surroundings. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but there was a bar and it was open. Good enough.

Charles had always had that special knack for getting under his skin, Erik mused as he knocked back his first vodka. Even before he fell in love, Charles could get to him in a way no one else could. From that night outside the CIA building where he convinced Erik to stay, he brought out the best and the worst in Erik.

And Charles, Charles was so much more than people thought at first glance. It was so easy for them to stop at his rich background and English accent and see him as naïve and innocent. But Charles was no blushing violet. He was selfish and arrogant and stubborn. But he was also wickedly funny and entirely too caring, not to mention terribly awkward at relationships. And Erik loved that side of him.

Charles' habit of lashing out when angry though, he could live without.

And so, he needed to fall back and regroup before facing Charles again. This wasn't his first relationship after all – although it was the first in a long time – and he certainly did not want to repeat the same mistakes he'd made with Marya. Granted, he'd been young and foolish at the time, but that didn't change the fact that his temper was as strong today as it was back then. Better then to get some space, drown his anger out with a couple of vodkas, then return home and try to hash out whatever issue Charles had civilly.

Hopefully.

That was the plan at least.

But by the time he arrived home, Charles was in bed. Erik studied him for a long time until he was certain Charles actually was asleep, not just faking it. But they'd been together long enough now that he could tell the difference. Quietly slipping out of his clothes, he lay down beside Charles. And although it wasn't usually their thing to sleep so close – unless Erik suffered from a night terror – he shuffled across the mattress until his chest was only inches from Charles' back, curling one arm around his waist. Erik pressed a small closed mouth kiss against Charles' shoulder.

Tomorrow. They'd fix this tomorrow.

X

Charles lay in bed, his head upon his forearm as he stared at the ceiling. He could hear Erik on the other side of the room, puttering away in the kitchen making breakfast. He'd offered Charles, but Charles had silently declined. His spine hurt, as did his shoulders, not to mention the intermittent ache in his legs that came and went with the sensation in them. But worse than that, were the thoughts swirling about in his head. And the uncomfortable truth forcing its way to the surface, making his heart hurt.

"Why are you still here?" he asked suddenly.

Across the room, Erik paused and frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Charles hauled himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth as his muscles screamed in protest.

"I'm messing this up," he explained, waving a hand between them. "Why are you still here? Or do you want me to go?"

"Because we had one fight?" Erik asked. He shook his head. "You must be a bigger idiot than I give you credit for."

It was Charles' turn to frown. Erik sighed. He waved a hand to turn off the stove, then pulled a chair from the table across to Charles' bedside. Sitting, Erik leaned his elbows against his knees as he fixed Charles with a look.

"Charles, this is a relationship," Erik continued. "We'll fight. We always have; the fact that we're sleeping together now won't change that. Fighting is my natural response to a lot of things. So yes, we will fight. And sometimes, like last night, I will leave. Because if I stay, I might say something I'd regret. But I promise that I will always come back to you at night.

"Charles, this isn't going to be easy. I know that. If you want me gone, just say it. But one fight isn't enough to scare me off," he finished.

"I don't want you to leave," Charles admitted.

"Good," Erik smiled. "Because I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily, Xavier."

Charles chuckled.

"Now, do you want some breakfast?" Erik asked.

"Yes please," Charles nodded.

Erik smirked.

"Wise choice."

X

Only two days later, Erik noticed Charles' grimace again out of the corner of his eye. This time, instead of leaping straight in, he paused and took stock. It was when Charles shifted, wincing each time, then reached a hand round to rub at his back that the pieces fell into place.

"You're in pain," he realised.

"What? No," Charles denied.

"Don't lie to me," Erik replied. He set aside the dish cloth and perched on the edge of the mattress, knee to knee with Charles. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," Charles insisted.

An angry retort immediately sprung up to his throat, but instead of demanding to know why Charles obviously didn't trust him, Erik chose to breathe and swallow his anger.

"Charles," he began. "I can see you're in pain. I know I'm not very good at relationships, but I do know that I don't want to make the same mistakes with you as I have in the past. And – well, I think the best way to avoid those mistakes is by talking. Not our strong point, I know."

Charles stared at him, the silence stretching on until Erik began to worry; had he overstepped, pushed Charles too far? Added the straw which would break the camel's back?

"I don't know how to do this," Charles exhaled.

"Do what?"

"This. Relationships," he confessed. "Erik, I think before you, my longest relationship was a week. I just, I don't know how relationships work."

Erik hummed.

"Neither do I," he said. "But I do know where I went wrong before. Just avoid everything I've done in the past and you'll be fine."

He offered Charles a grin, and it warmed his heart to receive a chuckle in return.

"Okay," Charles nodded.

"So, do you want to try again?" Erik asked, "And actually tell me what's wrong this time?"

"You're right," Charles admitted. "I'm in pain."

"Your back?"

Charles huffed.

"Among other things. My back, my shoulders, and my legs – when I can feel them. It's the physical therapy," he explained. "Trying to walk again hurts like a bitch."

"Why do you have to walk?" Erik frowned. "If it's for me, don't. It doesn't make any difference to me whether you walk or not. I love you. Not your legs." He grinned wickedly. "However sexy your legs may be."

"No," Charles shook his head. "That's not- I mean, I'm not doing it for you. I just, I..." He pursed his lips. "Sometimes I feel so useless. I have, I have nothing here, Erik. I can't work. I don't have the school, I don't have my research. You're at work all day. That's a lot of time on my own with only my thoughts for company. I _need_ this. I need something to work towards."

Erik nodded slowly, taking in Charles' words.

"Can I see your notes?" Erik asked. He'd seen them littering the apartment for months. Charles' eyebrows raised in surprise. "Please?" Erik added.

"Of course," Charles replied.

Retrieving them from his bedside, Charles handed over his scribbled notes, detailing the exercises he'd researched and believed would be most effective in helping him regain what mobility he could. Feeling Charles' eyes on him the entire time, Erik read through the pages slowly – not just because Charles' writing was terrible – taking care to take in every detail before forming his reply. And once he'd finished, he read them a second time just to be sure he had it correct.

When he put the papers aside, Erik saw the way Charles tensed, as if readying himself for a fight to defend his right to decide whether or not to continue with the physical therapy. Which was why when he did speak, Erik took care to watch his tone and speed, to ensure he didn't sound like, well, _himself_ , demanding Charles see it his way.

"I think exercises are good," he began, making a point of ignoring Charles' startled look of surprise, "However, could I help?"

"I don't need help," Charles instantly interrupted.

Erik held up a hand.

"Let me finish?" he asked. Charles hesitated, then nodded. "Managing most of these alone will put a lot of effort on your body. Perhaps, just for a little while, I could help so it's less of a strain? So you're building up the strength rather than forcing it."

"I should be able to do these without help," Charles insisted. "I spent the last several years walking; it's not as though I'm fighting atrophy."

"Yes," Erik acknowledged, "However you had full use of your legs then too. Now you don't. Accepting help does not make you weak, Charles."

Charles looked away, allowing the silence to stretch on. But he reached out for Erik's hand, without looking; Erik took it gladly, pressing a small kiss to Charles' knuckles.

"Why is it so important to you?" Charles muttered.

"Because. Because, I want..." Erik swallowed. "I want to protect you," he tried again. "From – from everything. Even yourself. No, especially yourself. Because, Charles, I love you, but you are one of the most self destructive people I've ever met. Sometimes – sometimes I just want to scream at you. And, and, not just that. I want to, to protect you. From this -" he waved his hand vaguely, "- From all the aches and pains that your body throws at you. And not, I'm not – I mean – I'm not just saying that because I feel guilty. No. It's not that. It's just- I love you. So I want to protect you. Because when I see you hurt – physically, or emotionally, or mentally – it hurts. It hurts me. Because I love you. And not asking for help? It's one of those mistakes I made that you probably don't want to repeat."

Finally running out of words and air, Erik breathed slowly, then forced himself to meet Charles' eyes, unsure of what reaction awaited him.

Charles watched him pensively, but when their eyes met, he offered Erik a small smile.

"Okay," he said finally.

"Okay?" Erik echoed.

"Okay," Charles nodded. "I will... try."

Erik beamed, leaping forward to plant a sloppy kiss between Charles' eyebrows.

"Thank you, darling," Charles rolled his eyes.

"No, thank _you_ Charles."

Charles squeezed his hand.

"Now, at this moment, have you taken anything for the pain?" Erik continued.

"Yes," Charles replied. "It's not cutting it."

"I have an idea," Erik announced. He jumped to his feet. "Get undressed."

"What? Why?" Charles called as Erik turned towards the bathroom. Reading Erik's intent from his mind, Charles shook his head, "A bath? Erik, no. I've tried it."

"Just, do as I say," Erik replied. He heard a long-suffering sigh from the other room, but when he returned several minutes later, Charles was waiting in his underwear by the door.

After Erik helped Charles into the bath, he stepped back and stripped off his own clothes.

"What are you doing?" Charles frowned.

"Lean forward," Erik instructed.

Grasping the plastic handles on either side of the bath, Charles pulled his torso forward enough that Erik could climb in behind him, pulling Charles' back against his chest. The tub was barely big enough for one, so together they were a tangle of limbs sticking out in all directions.

Erik placed a kiss to Charles' collar bone.

"Where does it hurt?" he murmured, running his hands over Charles' back until he found the knots of muscle. "Relax," he instructed, before gentling working the knots lose until eventually they simply lay together in the rapidly cooling water.

"Thank you," Charles whispered, running his thumb up and down Erik's forearm.

"For what?" Erik replied.

"For making the effort. For recognising that you don't want to make the same mistakes again."

Erik leaned forward, ignoring the twinge in his neck to brush his lips against Charles'.

"Anytime," he promised.


	9. Finding Home

**AKA the chapter which started this whole thing off, and sent me down the rabbit hole of this AU.**

 **Finding Home**

Charles' hand shot out and caught Erik's wrist. Erik frowned, glancing first at the hand then at Charles' face. He recognised the familiar expression of pain on his friend's face, accompanied by the familiar gesture of fingers pressed to his temple. Someone's thoughts had invaded Charles' mind uninvited. It was rare, Erik knew, for anyone who wasn't a telepath to cross Charles' barriers, but not unheard of. It only happened when the emotion was particularly strong or unchecked.

Without a word, Charles turned his chair and moved down an alley. Erik followed close behind.

"What is it?" he asked when Charles stopped again.

Suddenly his mind was assaulted by a high-pitched, frantic voice, thoughts and emotions so jumbled up together that Erik had to fight to keep his balance.

 _Fear, lonely, what was that, help, so alone, don't know, ouch, where to, no, no, where to go, shh..._

Their eyes met.

"Where?" Erik asked.

Charles nodded towards the gap between two dumpsters. Erik stepped forward cautiously, crouching in front of the gap then felt his breath leave him.

A pair of dark eyes, wide with fear, scrutinised him. Erik fought to swallow the lump in his throat. He tried to smile comfortingly and held out his hand.

" _It's okay_ ," he murmured in Polish. " _We won't hurt you. Come here._ "

Tentatively a tiny hand gripped his palm, and Erik was overwhelmed with a wave of anger. He pushed it down, and led the owner of the hand out into the light. Behind them, Charles inhaled sharply. The little girl's eyes darted around. She was tiny and filthy. Erik couldn't stop himself; he pulled her into his arms and carried her across to Charles. Perhaps most heartbreaking of all, the child didn't try to fight him; instead she nestled into his shirt, fingers anchoring to his collar. When was the last time someone had shown her any sort of kindness, let alone comfort?

"How old is she?" Erik asked, kneeling in front of Charles.

"She can't be more than three," Charles replied.

He brushed back the girl's matted hair, his heart aching as she leaned into the touch like a cat.

"Where are her parents?" Erik frowned with barely contained fury.

"Gone," Charles said. "I'm not sure, her memories aren't clear. I don't know if they're dead, or if they abandoned her."

"How could anyone do that?" Erik muttered.

Charles felt his heart swell with love and admiration for the man in front of him. Yes, Erik had done some terrible things – many of which tended to involve Charles himself in some way – but it was this side of him, the side that genuinely wanted to fight injustice and help people that had caused Charles to fall in love with him in the first place. He'd seen it all those years ago in the ocean off the coast of Florida and been drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Erik's methods may have been more than a little misguided, but his intentions were good. As evidenced by the way he cradled the child to his chest or how he knelt in the alleyway, heedless of the filth that was transferring itself to Erik's clothes.

"Well, we can't leave her," Charles declared. "I don't know what we'll do, but we're not leaving her to this. We'll take her home tonight, and figure something out in the morning."

Erik nodded.

"What's her name?"

Charles paused, delving into her mind again.

"Nina."

XXX

The childish giggles that greeted Erik when he stepped into their tiny studio apartment immediately brought a smile to his lips. After changing out of his own dirt covered clothes, he'd been dispatched to find something more suitable that her current rags for Nina to wear, while Charles gave her a bath. Dropping the bag onto their bed, Erik leaned against the bathroom door frame and watched the scene before him.

Charles sat on the floor, leaning over the edge of the tub to work shampoo through Nina's hair. Judging by the colour of the water, this wasn't the first time he'd done it, but Nina seemed unfazed, squeezing her eyes closed against the bubbles. But it was the way Charles carefully poured water over her hair to remove the suds, using his other hand to shield her eyes, the utter tenderness in his actions that inspired such a feeling of _want_ in Erik's chest, the strength of which surprised him. Suddenly he knew he wanted a lifetime of this, of returning home to Charles and their child, despite knowing it was a path denied to them by biology and prejudice. All his previous goals in life – mutant supremacy, revenge for his mother's death, finding and killing Shaw – paled in comparison.

He wanted this.

"Okay, let's get you dried off before you start turning in to a prune," Charles said, chattering away to Nina despite the fact she couldn't understand English and his Polish remained ropey at best. Clearly she found comfort in the tone of Charles' voice even if she couldn't understand the words; something Erik could empathise with completely. "Here we go," Charles said, lifting her out of the water and into the towel in his lap.

Over his shoulder, Nina caught sight of Erik and her face lit up even more.

" _You're back!_ " she cried in Polish.

Charles followed her eye-line, sharing Erik's smile.

"See, Erik's back," he said, bouncing Nina in his arms. "Erik, would you...?"

Erik stepped forward to take Nina from him, allowing Charles to manoeuvre himself back into his chair. He carried her out of the bathroom, tickling her stomach through the towel and grinning at the laughter it elicited.

Nina stared in wonderment at the new set of clothes Erik had managed to find in the only store still open. They were nothing fancy, however they were clean and in one piece, but the amazement in the little girl's expression pained both men.

"Mine?" she whispered to Erik.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Tomorrow," Charles said. "Tonight it's time for bed. I don't suppose you picked up some pyjamas for her too?" he asked Erik.

"Um..."

Charles chuckled, and turned to retrieve one of his own t-shirts. Once they'd dressed Nina in it – it fell almost to her ankles – Charles sat her on the edge of the bed and carefully tried to work a comb through her tangled mess of hair. But it had been so long since it had last been brushed, he quickly realised it was a lost cause.

"Can you ask her if we can cut her hair?" he asked Erik. "It'll be easier for everyone if we do."

Erik crouched in front of her, murmuring in Polish, the words falling easily from his lips. Nina nodded her assent, and Charles began to carefully chop the dark locks. It took longer than he anticipated, but eventually he'd managed to cut the worst of the tangles off, and worked the comb carefully through her remaining hair until it lay in a smooth bob at her shoulders.

"There we go, that's better, isn't it?" Charles smiled.

Nina gasped when she saw her reflection, and Charles took the delighted grin as a sign she was pleased with his handiwork.

"Okay, bedtime," he insisted.

Flicking off his shoes, Charles pulled himself onto the bed. Immediately Nina cuddled into his side, gabbling in Polish while looking up innocently at him. He glanced at Erik for clarification.

"She says she's not tired," Erik translated from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing about his lips. Switching back to Polish, he said, " _Are you sure? It's very late for little girls to be awake._ "

" _Not sleepy_ ," Nina insisted.

"Hmm," Erik hummed. He crossed the room, settling onto his side of the bed. " _We'll have to see what we can do about that._ "

Nina turned, leaning back against Charles while her little fist twisted into Erik's t-shirt.

" _When I was a little boy_ ," Erik explained, " _My mother had a special song that she would sing to me when I couldn't sleep._ "

" _A song?_ " Nina echoed.

" _Yes_ ," Erik nodded solemnly. " _Why don't you lie down, and we can see if it works on you too?_ "

" _No, it won't_ ," Nina insisted.

Erik chuckled.

" _Let's call it an experiment_ ," he said, tucking the covers around her.

Despite the fact it had been over thirty years since he'd last heard the song, the lyrics came easily to him, the familiar Polish words rolling off his tongue. Nina fought valiantly to stay awake, but he could see her eyes drooping closed even by the end of the first verse. But Erik continued to sing, just in case, and when he finished he sat in silence, just for a moment, remembering how his mother used to tell him that one day he would sing the song to his own child, just as she sang it to him, and her mother before her. He brushed Nina's hair back.

"That was beautiful," Charles murmured.

"Old family song," Erik muttered.

"Whatever it is, it worked," Charles smiled. "Poor little thing. Probably hasn't slept properly in... Well, too long. I can't imagine she gets too much sleep on the streets."

"No, you don't," Erik agreed, remembering his own time on the streets. Charles looked up sharply, but Erik shook his head; not now. He lay down, and the two men watched the little girl as she slept soundly between them. Already they could see the difference in her, and not only because she was now clean and her hair shorter. Some of the fear and tension – neither of which had any place on the features of so young a child – had lifted, revealing the innocence underneath.

"We could keep her," Erik suggested eventually.

Charles raised his eyebrows.

"You're wanted and I'm dead, I'm not sure that's exactly what they look for in adoptive parents," he replied, only half joking.

"Are you honestly telling me that you don't want this?" Erik asked, pointing between them.

"I do..." Charles agreed.

"But?"

"But what if she isn't a mutant?" Charles asked, meeting Erik's look head on.

He didn't shy away from the truth, and Erik had to admire that, even if the truth was rather painfully directed at Erik himself. He lowered his eyes, back to Nina, who still had his t-shirt clutched in her hand. Slowly, feeling Charles' eyes on him the entire time, Erik ran her fingers through Nina's hair, marvelling at the change in it, from the coarse mess that had caught his fingers in the alley, to the silky smooth strands that fell though his grip. They sat like that in silence, he running his fingers through Nina's hair and Charles watching him, until eventually he lifted his head again to meet Charles' eyes. There was no judgement in them, only concern.

"I don't care," Erik realised. "I don't care if she's a mutant. I want her, I want this, with you."

A smile broke across Charles' face, and he leaned across, careful not to knock Nina, and pressed his lips to Erik's.

"I love you," he murmured.

XXX

Erik was quickly coming to the conclusion that all children-related shops were quite frankly terrifying. The children's floor of the department store had far too many bright colours for his liking, and he'd skulked behind Charles and Nina, glaring at anyone who dared to get too close or to look at their little family the wrong way. Of course, his glare disappeared the moment Nina had gasped in delight at the variety of different clothes, replaced by a fond smile as they picked out several outfits for her, including some much needed pyjamas. The shoe store had been a traumatising experience of parents trying to wrestle screaming children into co-operation, and Erik had sent a silent prayer of thanks that Nina was so excited at the prospect of owning these items for herself that she enthusiastically did whatever they asked.

But it was now, in the toy store, that he realised true hell lay.

Every aisle seemed to contain yet another child having a tantrum because they were not permitted the toy they wanted and a fraught parent trying to explain _why_. Erik shuddered, then pressed a kiss to Nina's forehead. She'd become shy at the amount of people and the increased noise, but Erik had gladly scooped her into his arms, finding as much comfort himself from the action as she did.

"I felt less nervous the day we went after Shaw than this," Erik muttered.

"Let's hope we can avoid any potentially fatal injuries today," Charles joked.

They wandered around the store, trying to avoid the worst tantrums, until Nina caught sight of a rack of soft toys. Her eyes lit up, her hand instinctively reaching forward.

"Which one?" Erik asked.

Nina bit her lip before pointing at a fat rabbit with brown fur. Erik pulled it free, offering it to the girl. She stared at it with wide eyes, and Erik realised with an ache in his heart that she probably couldn't remember the last time she had a toy to call her own, or even just a toy that wasn't something pulled from the gutter or a trash can.

"This one?" he confirmed.

Nina nodded, clearly expecting him to refuse. But Erik simply handed the toy for Charles to carry.

"Really?" Nina whispered.

"Of course," Erik replied, his heart breaking a little more. "You can have more, if you want."

Nina pointed again, this time to a soft toy horse, and Erik immediately handed it to Charles. Despite the earlier terror he'd felt at being in the store, suddenly he refused to leave until they'd spoiled Nina rotten with as many toys as they could afford, if only so he never had to see that expression of longing on his daughter's face again.

 _His daughter_.

He had a daughter, he realised with a jolt. He had a daughter with Charles. His eyes sought Charles', and he knew from the other man's expression that he was experiencing the exact same feelings and wished things were different so he could kiss Charles because, _damn_ , they had a daughter. But then Charles winked, and Erik knew he understood.

"Let's see what else we can find, hmm?"

XXX

"Nina," Erik began, crouching in front of the girl. "We'd like you to stay with us, if you want to."

"Forever?" she whispered.

"If you want," he nodded.

"You won't leave?"

"Never schatz," he promised. Nina leaned forward and snuggled into his arms, eliciting a smile from both men. Erik kissed the top of her head, while Charles leaned forward and took her hand in his own.

"You're papa now?" Nina asked.

"How about if I'm papa, and Charles is daddy?"

"Da-dee?" Nina frowned, the word foreign to her.

"It means papa in English. What do you think?"

Erik tried to ignore the flutter of nerves in his stomach. He so desperately wanted them to be a family now, that if Nina objected to the idea of him and Charles, it would break his heart. _Calm your mind,_ Charles' voice murmured in his head. Erik took a deep breath.

"Promise you won't leave?" Nina said eventually. Her voice was so small and so filled with defeat, she so clearly believed that they would abandon her too that Erik had to close his eyes for a moment to calm himself.

"I promise," he croaked. "We will never leave you. Ever."

He sent a quick projection to Charles. Charles eyes widened slightly, then he leaned forward, cupping Nina's cheek with his free hand.

"Nina," Charles whispered. " _I promise you, we will never leave you._ "

Nina's face lit up. Suddenly she launched herself at Charles, but kept one hand in Erik's shirt, dragging him with her until they ended up in a tangled heap on the floor.

"Troublemaker," Charles laughed, kissing Nina's hair.

"Just like her daddy," Erik teased.

"Funny, I was thinking she was just like her papa," Charles retorted.

Erik smirked, breathing in the smell of his daughter's hair and revelling in the fact that for the first time in over thirty years, he had a family.

XXX

Erik was a great father.

Charles had always suspected he would be, but now he had indisputable, empirical evidence as he watched Erik Lehnsherr, mutant terrorist and one of the most wanted men in the world, honest to God _giggling_ as their daughter attacked him by tickling his sides. It was simultaneously disturbing and adorable all at once, an unusual combination granted, but one that Charles experienced more and more these days since Nina had come into their lives. But what made it worth it, was the way the lines on Erik's face disappeared when he was with Nina, the laughter and the love and the joy erasing the fear that had taken up permanent residence in Erik's features since Washington. Or perhaps it was just since Charles had joined him, since he couldn't actually know whether or not Erik had looked like that for the four months between Washington and Charles' arrival in Krakow. Charles knew, without reading Erik's mind, that he was afraid of losing Charles and now Nina, afraid his past would take them away – or perhaps more accurately, that it would take him away from them. He seemed to forget that Charles was a telepath, and there was no way he would let that happen, even if he had to go around mind wiping the world behind them.

"Charles, help," Erik croaked, but Charles simply sat back in his wheelchair and enjoyed the view. _Bastard_ , Erik's voice echoed in his head, which only served to make Charles even more determined not to intervene. Despite Erik's protests, Charles knew he loved these moments, simple, unplanned moments when the three of them could just be. Where Erik wasn't a wanted terrorist, where Charles wasn't supposed to be dead, where Nina wasn't abandoned on the streets like a piece of trash. Where they weren't pretending to be Henryk Gurszky or Max Eisenhart or Nina Gurszky – because they'd decided Nina looked more like Erik out of the two of them, so they would present her to the world as his daughter – they were simply Charles, Erik and Nina. Or daddy, papa and Nina.

Family.

It had been a long time since any of them had had a true family. Nina was a mystery to them, other than the few details Charles managed to gleam from her muddled memories. The best he could figure out is that at one point she had parents, but they were long gone. Now, he and Erik were her parents as far as she was concerned, and being so young, Charles suspected she would go on to forget her birth parents completely. Erik had been alone without family since Sebastian Shaw shot his mother before him, and Charles lost his sister the same day he lost most of his mobility on a beach in Cuba. Raven may have started to visit in the four months after Washington, but they hadn't re-established their relationship before his 'death'.

Suddenly Nina bounced off of the bed and threw herself onto Charles' lap, sending them rolling back a few feet much to Erik's amusement. Charles winced when her boney knees collided with his stomach, but he still pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair and planting a kiss there.

"Hello my darling," he murmured. "Did you have fun torturing papa?"

Nina giggled, turning back towards the bed where Erik had pushed himself up onto his elbows and was trying – and failing badly – to look stern.

"Yes!" she grinned.

"That's my girl," Charles smiled.

"Must you encourage her, Charles?" Erik retorted.

"Of course."

Erik snorted with laughter, and Charles grinned. It was strange, here in a studio apartment that was much too small for two grown men – one of whom was in a wheelchair ninety percent of the time – and a small child, away from everything he'd ever known, that he had found this feeling of safety and love and family and home. But here it was. It was his, and nothing and no one would ever tear it away.


	10. Perceptive

**Perceptive**

Every time he looked at his daughter, Charles couldn't help but smile. He'd never imagined that he would have a daughter. He dreamed about it, about having children whether they be boys or girls, but he'd never realistically seen it happening. He'd never met anyone who could keep up with him, or who he could share his whole self with. No one would want to start a relationship with a telepath, he'd reasoned, and why not? After all, living with the knowledge that you could never have any secrets, that the other person could be breaching your trust at any point without your knowledge; who would want that? Then there was his injury, which brought a whole pile of new problems. Perhaps he couldn't even have children any more. Not that many people were willing to consider a long term relationship with a paraplegic, let alone a paraplegic telepath.

But then Erik had come careering back into his life, shattering all those illusions in one short letter. Charles had thrown everything away for the chance of happiness and now, watching Nina sleep with one hand wrapped around his finger, Charles knew with absolute certainty it had been worth it.

Suddenly he became aware of two dark eyes watching him. He smiled.

"What are you doing awake schatzi?" he asked, borrowing Erik's nickname for her.

"Can't sleep," Nina grinned.

"Can't sleep?" Charles echoed. "I'm sure that's not true. Now, daddy says _go to sleep_."

Nina giggled.

"That won't work daddy."

"Of course it will," Charles grinned. "Daddy says _go to sleep_."

"Nuh uh. Not working!"

"Oh dear," Charles sighed. "I guess we'll just have to wait for papa to get home then."

In truth, it was unlikely Charles would sleep before Erik arrived home anyway. He hated when Erik worked late; it left him too open to worry. Worry which had only increased since Nina's arrival. When Erik was out of his range, he couldn't protect him, couldn't protect them.

"Will you tell me a story?" Nina asked, snuggling closer.

"A story? I think I could manage that," Charles replied. He shifted down the bed so he was lying face to face with his daughter. With the hand not tangled with Nina's, he reached out and tweaked her nose, eliciting a new round of giggles.

"Not a fairytale, something new," Nina instructed.

"Okay," Charles nodded. "Once upon a time," he began. "There were two boys. They were born hundreds of miles apart, and didn't know the other existed. But both boys were very sad and lonely. Then one day, the younger boy was asked by the knights to help them. And in doing so, he met the older boy. They became best friends, and were so pleased to find each other. Because they were no longer lonely. But most important of all, the boys both had magic powers, and they'd never told anyone else because they were afraid of what people would do. They loved having someone they could talk to about their powers. And eventually the boys fell in love.

"But there was a bad sorcerer, who'd been taunting the older boy for years. The knights asked the boys for their help to stop the sorcerer. The boys agreed, but the sorcerer tricked the older boy. They beat the sorcerer, but his spell lived on in the older boy's head and he ran away, leaving the other boy all alone again."

"What happened?" Nina whispered.

"The younger boy was so sad. He loved his friend so much, and he missed him desperately. Many years passed, and they never found each other. Until one day they fought a battle against each other. They both hurt each other, and it broke their hearts to do so. Eventually the younger boy won, but he let the older one go, because he couldn't bear the thought of what the knights would do to his love.

"But the younger boy was still sad. He was still alone, and he still missed his friend. Until one day he received a message from the older boy telling him how much he still loved him. The younger boy made up his mind and left the knights immediately. He ran away, and found the older boy. He told him how much he'd missed him, and that he still loved him too. The older boy didn't believe him. He'd done so much bad, he felt sure the younger boy must hate him. But he didn't. He forgave the older boy all the wrongs, and slowly the older boy came to realise he meant it."

"Did they live happily ever after?" Nina yawned.

"Of course," Charles whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"Good," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Goodnight darling," Charles said.

"Night daddy."

With a smile, Charles reached for his book, keeping Nina's hand wrapped around his finger.

"Daddy?"

"What is it darling?"

"I'm glad you and papa found each other again," Nina whispered.

Charles stared in surprise, a grin unconsciously spreading across his face.

"As am I," he replied eventually.

When Erik arrived home hours later, exhausted and ready to fall straight into bed, he found Charles lying in bed, book in one hand, and Nina holding the other as she slept.

"Hello," Charles murmured.

"Cześć," Erik replied, leaning down to brush his lips over Charles'. "What is it?"

"Our daughter is far too perceptive," Charles smiled. "And I love you."

"She gets that from you," Erik smirked. "And I love you too."


	11. No Good Deed

**No Good Deed**

Charles closed the bedroom door behind him, breathing in the silence that permeated the house and the surrounding forest. He turned and sought out Erik, spotting him at the window, chewing worriedly on his thumb nail. Charles limped across the room, ignoring the ache in his lower back, to wrap his arms around Erik's waist. He pressed a soft kiss between his other half's shoulder blades, then leaned his face against the soft fabric of Erik's shirt, inhaling the smell of sweat and cologne tinged with rust that made him think of home.

"It's alright," he whispered. "We're safe. No one will find us here."

XXXX

Life was a balancing act, more so when you lived as a wanted terrorist in hiding, and particularly when you were also in a homosexual relationship in a country that was less than approving of such things. When Erik was at work, he did his best to keep his head down and avoid being noticed. He socialised just enough that it wasn't odd, but kept his distance lest anyone should get a little too interested in his life and begin asking awkward questions. He turned up, did his work, then went home to the tiny apartment that had become a bright light in the bleakness of Krakow. And he was happy, as happy as it was possible to be with all those threats hanging over his head.

Until he saved Jozef Zima.

The factory Erik worked in was old, and many of the machines should have been scrapped years ago. But Gierek's reforms and promises of investment had not yet reached the factory, or its workers. Erik knew, and had known since he started working there, that with little more than a flick of his wrist, he could have the decrepit machines humming like new again, but it just was not worth the risk.

Erik was pouring heated metal into a mould when he heard the commotion. He glanced up just in time to see a one of the huge metal cauldrons which held the liquid metal tumble towards the ground.

And towards Jozef Zima.

Erik reacted instinctively, reaching out a hand. The cauldron froze inches above where Jozef lay on the floor. Erik's eyes widened as he realised what he'd done, and with a twitch of his fingers, it fell to the ground, missing Jozef by mere inches. Fighting the urge to run or start hyperventilating, Erik glanced around. The whole exchange had taken seconds, but he could feel the weight of several gazes on his skin.

They _knew_.

XXXX

Charles' head snapped up as the apartment door burst open. He relaxed when he saw it was only Erik. But as he watched Erik scrabble for the locks, triple checking each one, before leaning his head against the door, that initial worry grew again. Nina glanced between her fathers, confusion evident on her little face. Charles ran his hand through her hair; it was gesture that meant comfort and safety to her, one that had reassured her from the very first night with them.

"Erik?" Charles called. "What's wrong?"

He used English on purpose. While Nina was learning English quicker than most three year olds could grasp a second language, she was a long way from fluent. And Charles had a feeling this was a conversation not for her ears.

"We have to go," Erik replied.

"What?" Charles frowned. "Erik, look at me. What's happened?"

Slowly Erik pushed himself off of the door, turning to face his family. The sight of Charles and Nina did little to ease the terror that had been brewing since the incident earlier in the day. He was certain it was only a matter of time until the police came barging through the door.

"We have to leave," he insisted.

"Leave?" Charles echoed.

"Krakow," Erik nodded. "We have to go. Now."

"Why?"

"I saved a man at work."

"So?"

"So? So, I used my powers. Some of them saw me; it's only a matter of time until they come after me. We have to leave. Please, Charles. I cannot lose you. Either of you."

Charles saw the fear in his lover's eyes, read each and every one without the use of telepathy. He knew what Erik was afraid of. So he nodded.

"Okay. Okay Erik. We'll go. But where?"

"I don't know," Erik shook his head. "Just away. Not here."

"Okay darling, okay," Charles soothed. He reached forward, taking Erik's hand. "It's okay."

"Daddy? Papa?" Nina's small voice cut through the silence.

"It's okay little one," Charles assured her. He lifted her onto his lap. "We're going to go away for a while."

Horror spread across Nina's face.

"No," she whined. "Don't leave me. Please."

"Oh sweetheart, no," Charles shook his head, pulling her closer. "No, don't be silly. Of course we're not leaving you. You're coming with us. You're our baby girl. We'd never leave you behind."

Nina nestled further into his embrace. Charles kissed the top of her head.

"Now," he continued. "I'm going to give you to papa, because he looks like he could use a hug too, alright?"

Nina nodded against his shoulder. Charles lifted her across to Erik, taking a moment to watch father and daughter curl into each other. Then he turned away and began to pack. Erik needed the comfort; Charles could afford to be practical. Because despite his reassurances to the contrary, he was worried too.

XXX

They left in the dark.

Erik had recently acquired a car for them, a decrepit old Lauda that he'd found in a junkyard that, thanks his powers, ticked over as though it was fresh off the line. Slap on a fresh coat of paint, and no one would ever guess that only a few short weeks ago it had been condemned to the scrap heap. In the darkness, Erik loaded their belongings into the trunk, working quickly and silently. He and Charles had very little; only a suitcase of clothes between them, a box of books, a box of medical journals and a chess set. Nina however, well, they'd spoiled her as much as their savings would allow it.

Once everything was stowed away, he returned upstairs to help Charles down to the car. Outside, he took Nina then offered his arm for Charles to use in shifting from his chair to the passenger seat. But Charles took his hand, squeezing it gently.

 _Don't be scared_ , he said. _We'll be alright, Erik, I promise._

 _Don't make promises you can't keep Charles_ , Erik replied.

Charles tugged Erik down to his level and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 _This one I intend to keep. Believe me. Now stop worrying, or you'll give yourself wrinkles._

Erik chuckled. He kissed the top of Charles' head, receiving a smile in reply. After helping Charles into the car, Erik tucked Nina into Charles' arms then took his place in the driver's seat.

Despite his calm exterior, Charles couldn't sleep. Once she was certain they wouldn't leave her, Nina had dropped off in his arms, but Charles remained awake, his mind on alert for any sign of a hostile presence approaching. His hand ran absently through his daughter's hair, feeling the thrum of worry coming from Erik beside him. Every so often, they would reach for each other's hand, gripping it reassuringly. Charles exhaled slowly, then dropped a kiss into Nina's hair. They would be fine. The alternative wasn't an option.

They drove through the night, heading east. Charles wondered if they would cross into Germany. Eventually however, they stopped in the early hours of the morning at a small, run down hotel on the outskirts of Malomice. It appeared on the verge of closing, which could only work in their favour Charles decided. No one would push to hard if they needed the business that badly. He let Erik do the talking, waiting in the car with the still sleeping Nina. When Erik returned, they stumbled into the room, falling into the double bed together after tucking Nina into a make-shift bed on the sofa, for once ignoring the dangers of sleeping in the same bed. Erik pulled Charles close as they drifted off, and Charles submitted willingly to his strong embrace.

In the morning, Erik retrieved breakfast for them all, and the family ate sprawled across the double bed.

"What now?" Charles murmured in English. "We're near the border with Germany, yes? Is that your plan?"

"More of an idea than a plan," Erik shrugged, watching Nina as she ate in his lap. "But when I was out, I saw an advert for jobs at the metal processing plant in town. What do you think?"

"I think this is the last place anyone would ever look for us," Charles agreed. "We could even live out of town, somewhere with space for Nina to run around outside without fear."

"I'd like that," Erik admitted, wiping Nina's mouth with a napkin.

"Alright, you go apply for a job," Charles instructed, "And I will look for somewhere to live. Deal?"

"Deal," Erik nodded.

Charles could see the tension in Erik's frame and leaned over, pulling him in for a chaste kiss.

"We will be safe, darling," he promised.

XXX

The cottage was a few minutes drive out of Malomice in Pruszkow. Surrounded by a forest at the end of a dead-end, it provided the space they wanted for Nina to play and explore, and afforded them all some much needed privacy. Erik remained tense the entire time the estate agent guided him around the property; he hated being away from Charles and Nina for so long when things remained so unsettled. Besides, he'd already decided to take it. He'd fallen in love with it the minute Charles had passed him the brochure the day before.

Only days later, they were finally able to move into their new home. Nina gazed at the cottage with wide eyes, the way Sean and Alex and Hank had once gazed at a mansion in Westchester so many years ago.

"This is ours?" she whispered.

"Yes," Charles smiled, running a hand over her hair. He looked up as Erik joined them on his other side, taking Erik's hand and brushing a kiss across his knuckles. For the first time since they left Krakow, some of the tension left Erik and he managed the first real smile in days.

 _I love you_ , Charles projected. He felt the warmth his words inspired in Erik's mind and curled around it.

"Should I carry you over the threshold?" Erik teased.

"You just try," Charles dared.

Erik's head fell back in laughter, doing more than anything else to warm Charles' heart, before scooping Nina up onto his shoulders and leading the way inside.

"Do I really have a room all my own?" Nina asked.

"You do," Charles confirmed. Nina's eyes resembled saucers as she took in this new information, before a grin spread across her face.

"I like living here!" she declared. "I want to see my room!"

"Go on papa, give her the grand tour," Charles urged. He watched Erik lift Nina off his shoulders and place her on her feet, then lead their daughter through the house to the stairs. Charles smiled. They could have so much more freedom here, he realised, away from prying eyes. Nina could call him daddy and he could kiss Erik, without fear of reprisals. Erik could even use his mutation. Charles glanced around. Yes, even though they'd only just arrived, already the house felt like home. He could hear Nina and Erik's feet on the floor above him, the comforting touch of their minds nearby. Opening the nearest box, Charles began to unpack, looking forward to their future here together.

XXXX

Erik covered Charles' hands with his own, revelling in the comfort and warmth between them as he stared out of the window.

"This is our home," he murmured eventually.

"Yes," Charles replied, and Erik felt the rumble of his voice where Charles' chest pressed against his back. "It is."

"We're going to raise our daughter here, build a life here," Erik continued.

"We are," Charles confirmed, kissing the knot at the base of Erik's neck, his mouth lingering there long after the kiss ended. "We are going to live like anyone else, and there is no one to stop us; no one to look at us with disapproval, no one to threaten our safety."

Erik turned without breaking Charles' embrace, slipping his own arm around Charles' shoulders once they were face to face, dipping his face into the crook of Charles' neck.

"We are going to grow old here, together," Charles continued. "We're going to have birthdays and Hanukkahs and passovers here. We're going to welcome our daughter and her eventual family back for Sunday dinners here and maybe even watch our grandchildren playing in the garden here."

"God, I hope so," Erik whispered. His fingers toyed with the top button of Charles' shirt; Charles dipped his head to kiss his hand in permission and Erik began to unbutton the shirt.

"We are going to live here, together, like any other couple in the world," Charles promised. "You and I."

"I love you," Erik murmured and he pushed the shirt off of Charles' shoulder.

"Ich liebe dich auch," Charles replied, tugging Erik's t-shirt over his head. Erik leaned forward and kissed him, tugging Charles towards their bed without breaking the embrace.


	12. Scars

**Scars**

Erik first saw them way back in '62, the first time they shared a room on the recruitment trip across the country.

Charles was in a mood. Erik wasn't quite sure what had brought it on; one minute they were eating in a diner, chatting in the stilted, awkward way that you did when you were on the cusp of friendship but didn't know each other well enough to truly consider the other a friend. Then the television on the corner switched to a news report discussing whether or not Kennedy would increase the number of US troops in Vietnam yet again. Charles tensed, then tossed far too many bills onto the table and stood.

"Excuse me Erik, I've lost my appetite," he said, his voice clipped. "I'll see you back at the room."

Then he was gone and Erik was left wondering what on earth had happened.

After finishing his own meal – and grabbing a sandwich just incase Charles was hungry later; the man had hardly eaten anything after all – he returned to the hotel to the sounds of the shower. He clambered onto his own bed, toeing off his shoes and grabbing a book. No doubt Charles knew he was here, thanks to his mutation.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam followed by Charles, a towel around his waist and still-wet hair plastered to his forehead. There was still something haunted in his eyes which gave Erik pause. But more than that, what held Erik's attention were the scars that littered the Oxford scholar's torso. Scars which had no business marring skin which should have seen nothing worse than Friday night student bar brawls.

Most prominent was the puckered skin on his right shoulder; an ugly reminder that a bullet had invaded Charles' body against his will. When he turned to pull something from his suitcase, Erik saw that the scar had a matching partner on his back. A through and through then.

Once he was able to look past that scar, Erik noticed the other, smaller scar tissue strewn across Charles' torso. Erik recognised it. That scar tissue was caused by shrapnel. How on earth had Charles Xavier encountered shrapnel and a bullet? Clearly he didn't mind Erik seeing it, or he would've made an effort to cover up before leaving the bathroom. But he made no move to explain, and Erik wasn't brave enough to ask him about it.

He saw the scars multiple times over the following months, in various hotel rooms and then finally at Charles' ridiculous mansion. Charles never bothered to hide them from Erik, although he realised soon after arriving at the mansion that no one – possibly not even Raven – knew about them except him, but he never spoke of them. Never even looked at them. They were as clearly part of him as Erik's own scars. The only difference being that Charles knew where each and every one of Erik's scars came from, and even if he didn't, he would've been able to guess that most were linked to Shaw. But Erik was clueless to Charles' scars' origins.

Then eleven years later, when Charles ran away and joined him in Krakow, Erik saw them again the second night when he helped Charles access the bath. Figuring there was enough awkwardness – not to mention a peace between them that Erik was loathe to break – he kept his mouth shut that night and every one after that. Charles still made no move to hide them, but he never spoke of them either. Even when Nina came along, she was so young that she didn't realise when they lived in the studio apartment, crushed together in that too-small apartment, that there was anything wrong with daddy's chest. And why should she? After all, papa had similar scars across his skin, so it never stood out as unusual. By the time she was old enough to question it, they were living in Pruskow and there were fewer chances for her to notice their scars.

Over time, Erik had accepted that they were just part of Charles' skin. He'd never known him without those scars after all. But, he wondered. Of course he wondered.

Until one morning he could wait no longer.

It was rare for both of them to be awake while Nina slept. But somehow, today, they were, taking advantage of their still sleeping daughter to linger in bed together. Erik lay on his side, staring down at the bullet wound on Charles' shoulder.

Suddenly he reached out and touched it.

He'd touched it before, of course, particularly since they became a couple and started sleeping together. But never like this, never purposely.

The puckered skin felt no different to any of the other scars either of them held, but the mystery behind its origins gave it a distinctive aura. He felt Charles still under his fingers, the pads of his index and middle fingers exploring the ridges and bumps of the blemish.

"What happened?" Erik whispered.

"I got shot," Charles replied. He shrugged. "Occupational hazard."

"You were a professor, Charles," Erik pointed out.

Except...

No.

The scars pre-dated Erik's friendship with Charles, and he'd only received his doctorate weeks before they met. Erik frowned.

"I was a soldier," Charles said.

" _When_?"

"I turned eighteen in nineteen fifty one," Charles shrugged. "I was drafted. Korea? The war? Sorry – police action," he laughed bitterly. "I didn't see many police officers over there," he finished softly.

Erik stared.

With four little words, Charles had completely turned his views on his lover around. All these years together; why did he not know that Charles had fought in a war? He'd been vaguely aware of the Korean War at the time, however most of his knowledge came retrospectively.

"What happened?" he murmured.

"I was shot and captured by the Chinese," Charles swallowed, "With several members of my platoon. The Chinese knew they couldn't treat us; they were already considering contacting a nearby US hospital. All it took was a little nudge to convince them. They reached out to the Americans and agreed to a prisoner transfer. The doctors there were well known for treating Chinese soldiers fairly. I was treated, then sent back to my unit."

"And these?" Erik asked, his fingers trailing over the shrapnel pockmarks.

"We were on patrol when someone stepped on a mine," Charles replied. "I was the only survivor. I was sent to Tokyo for treatment. While I was there, the ceasefire was announced." Charles hesitated. "I felt them die, Erik," he whispered. "All of them at once."

He squeezed his eyes shut. Erik felt his heart go out to Charles. He reached out to tug Charles closer by his waist.

"You've never hidden them from me," Erik said, "Yet you never said anything. And I get the impression I'm the only one who knows this."

"Raven knows I was in Korea, obviously," Charles replied. "And she knows I was injured; she's seen one of my purple hearts. But she doesn't know the extent. And as for why I never hid them... I thought out of everyone you might understand."

Erik wasn't the best when it came to social cues or relationships – a consequence of his childhood – but he knew instantly exactly what to say and what Charles needed to hear. He kissed Charles gently, then whispered, "You're not alone Charles. You're not alone."


End file.
